|BHXi  OX  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND   RED 


BY 

GEOFFREY  CORSON 


NEW  YORK 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1915 


COPYRIGHT,  1915, 

BV 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  February,  JQI 
Reprinted  March,  1915 


THE  QUINN  «  BOOEN  CO.  PRESS 
RAHWAY,  X.  J. 


HARRIET  W.  PATTERSON 


2128931 


BOOK  I 
FIVE  CHILDREN 


CHAPTER  I 

WITH  an  itch  for  adventure  in  his  own  veins,  Neal  early 
decided  that  only  timid  people  remained  ashore,  or  old  for- 
gotten persons,  like  his  grandfather  Alexander  Carmichael, 
who  lived  in  a  pillared  house  built  by  a  prosperous  sea- 
faring ancestor  towards  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. This  ancient  homestead  overlooked  the  bay,  which 
had  more  ships  upon  it  than  a  boy  had  the  patience  to 
count  on  sunny  summer  afternoons,  when  joy  was  calling 
from  all  quarters;  from  the  hill  moors;  from  the  sea 
marshes ;  from  the  shaded  benches  of  an  old,  old  Mariner's 
Rest,  where  ancient  gentlemen  home  from  the  sea  could 
be  prevailed  upon  to  tell  shivery  tales  of  black  ships  rotting 
their  way  to  the  bottom  of  the  ocean,  or  battening  upon 
feebler  craft  in  the  name  of  skull  and  crossbones. 

Whatever  those  old  Greeks,  beloved  of  his  Uncle  Philip, 
believed  concerning  those  untraceable  islands  of  the  sunset 
called  "  blessed,"  Neal  knew  there  had  never  been  such 
an  Island  as  his  own.  It  furnished  everything  to  make 
life  complete,  from  silvered  buds  of  pussy-willows  in  bright, 
ungenial  March,  when  all  the  winds  ran  with  him,  to  chest- 
nuts pattering  upon  dry  leaves  in  the  enchanted  stillnesses 
of  October;  from  salt  pools  like  fragmentary  seas,  where 
one  could  launch  ocean  tramps  with  cargoes  of  acorns,  to 
tangled  forest  thickets,  where  one  could  examine  with 
breathless,  restrained  interest  a  mother  bird's  nursery. 

Since  Neal  remembered  neither  his  father  nor  his  mother, 
the  actions  of  parents,  whether  those  of  other  little  boys 
or  of  birds,  had  always  interested  him — the  more  because 
he  sometimes  mistrusted  the  vicarious  theories  of  which 
he  was  made  the  subject  by  devoted  kinsfolk.  Of  this 
band,  gathered  beneath  the  Carmichael  roof,  his  grand- 
father was  the  leader,  and  the  only  one,  Neal  thought,  who 

3 


4  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

had  the  right  to  govern  him.  No  authority  could  be  vested 
in  his  religious  Aunt  Caecilia,  who  insisted  on  his  attend- 
ance at  inscrutable  services  in  the  dim  church  by  the  sea 
marshes;  nor  in  his  proud  Aunt  Maria,  the  Mrs.  Guthrie 
of  a  small  fashionable  circle ;  nor  in  his  unregenerate  but 
amiable  Uncle  Jack,  a  stockbroker  with  imagination.  As 
for  Uncle  Philip,  long  ago  married  mystically  to  the  classics, 
Neal  was  sure  that  he  read  too  many  books,  for  he  always 
missed  the  first  robin  and  never  saw  the  first  violets. 

The  Island,  at  the  end  of  the  summer  inaugurating 
this  history,  had  provided  a  wealth  of  adventures,  which 
made  the  opening  of  school  distasteful  in  the  extreme  and 
inspired  Neal  to  distinguish  the  remaining  warm  days  by 
some  suitable  event,  preferably  one  long  dreamed  of, — the 
act  of  heroism  which  should  introduce  him  to  a  Hero,  an 
Achilles,  a  David,  a  Roland  of  Neal's  own  island,  from 
whose  august  society  he  was  kept  by  the  force  of  aristo- 
cratic circumstances.  The  school  he  attended,  an  unim- 
peachable academy,  was  not  altogether  to  his  liking,  for 
he  had  the  secret  conviction  that  it  was  looked  down  upon 
by  the  gang  who  went,  with  unanimous  contempt  for  learn- 
ing, to  the  public  school,  and  whose  leader — "  Chick " 
McCoy,  Neal's  hero,  a  wiry  strategian — was  the  champion 
pitcher  of  the  Irish  Terriers,  the  baseball  team  that  had 
made  Public  School  49  a  kind  of  prospective  Walhalla. 
The  gods  who  dwelt  there  might  have  their  twilight,  but 
never  their  superseders. 

The  Terriers,  who  played  the  kind  of  game  that  leads 
to  the  glory  of  the  League,  had  scorned  the  challenge  sent 
to  them  by  the  Bradford  Academy  team  on  a  sheet  of 
monogramed  note  paper  extracted  by  Neal's  chum,  Peter 
Fleming,  from  his  mother's  writing  desk.  Rumor  reported 
that  the  "  Chick,"  upon  receiving  this  white  scented  sheet, 
had  spat  upon  the  ball  he  was  fondling  and  inquired  of  the 
bystanders,  "Can  yer  beat  it?"  The  "Chick"  himself 
laboriously  wrote  the  answer :  "  The  Terriers  advise  the 
Bradford  team  to  rip  off  their  gloves  and  root  for  a  reputa- 
tion. The  Terriers  can  always  deliver  the  goods  to  the 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  5 

right  party,  but  they  don't  leg  it  just  because  little  gen- 
tlemen whistle  for  them." 

Neal  picked  out  the  sting  rightly  as  being  in  that  op- 
probrious word  "  gentlemen.''  It  so  rankled  in  his  breast 
that  at  dinner  that  evening,  emboldened  by  the  low  lights 
and  the  butler's  bank  of  flowers,  he  told  of  the  challenge 
and  its  answer,  inquiring  somewhat  wistfully  why  gentle- 
men should  be  debarred  from  the  true  pleasures  of  ex- 
istence. 

A  rustle  went  about  the  table  as  the  adults  considered 
the  question ;  Alexander,  with  a  smile  on  his  lined,  soldierly 
old  face ;  and  Philip,  as  usual,  dispatched  to  Greek  mythol- 
ogy by  all  questions  bearing  on  the  present;  while  Jack 
regarded  with  wonder  a  nephew  who  believed  in  heroes, 
since  he  himself  at  the  same  tender  age  had  begun  his  epic 
of  disillusion. 

"  Gentlemen  ?  "  The  Head  of  the  House  considered  the 
word,  twisting  his  wine  glass.  "  Oh,  they're  not  out  of 
things — that's  a  mistake.  What  made  you  think  they  were  ? 
Bradford?  Um! — a  breeding  place  for  snobs,  I  suspect. 
How  would  you  like  to  go  to  public  school?" 

The  word  echoed  raucously  against  the  mellow  oak  panels 
of  the  great  room.  The  butler  straightened  himself,  while 
Mrs.  Guthrie  rolled  her  fair  blue  eyes  towards  the  por- 
trait of  her  ancestor — the  gallant  sea  captain  painted  by 
Copley. 

"  Father ! "  Caecilia,  his  unmarried  daughter,  protested 
faintly. 

"  Father,  you  can't  be  serious,"  Mrs.  Guthrie  said,  draw- 
ing her  scarf  a  little  closer  about  her  white  matronly  shoul- 
ders. Since  she  had  returned  to  the  paternal  mansion 
widowed,  and  with  a  pretty  little  daughter  to  be  established 
in  life,  she  had  intensified  her  already  decided  views  as  to 
the  dignity  of  the  Carmichaels. 

"Why  not?  I  want  Neal  to  be  a  good  American — no 
class  distinctions,  no  nonsense." 

His  son  Philip  smiled,  knowing  that  the  Head  of  the 
House,  like  many  of  his  compatriots,  was  a  democrat  in 


6  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

theory  only,  while  in  practice  he  remained  isolated,  dom- 
inant, and  a  believer  in  the  divine  right  of  the  powerful. 

"  Class  distinctions !  "  Jack  echoed.  "  Country's  full  of 
'em — more  than  in  England.  I  am  not  so  stiff  as  you  are, 
Maria,  but  a  man  doesn't  have  to  be.  It's  always  the 
ladies  who  put  the  ropes  up.  You  practice  pitching,  Neal, 
and  the  Terriers  will  soon  notice  you." 

"  If  I  went  to  public  school  could  I  give  up  dancing 
class,  Grandfather?"  Neal  questioned. 

"  You  see,  Father !  "  Maria  said  triumphantly.  "  No 
knowing  where  the  logic  might  end ! " 

"  Nonsense !  "  Alexander  exclaimed.  "  The  boy  has  a 
country  to  serve — and  there's  more  than  one  class  in  it. 
If  he  only  knows  his  own  he's  done  for."  He  addressed 
the  butler.  "  Graham,  have  you  a  son  in  the  public 
school?  If  you  have,  send  him  up  for  a  talk  with  Master 
Neal." 

"  All  girls,  sir,"  Graham  replied  mournfully. 

"  And  girls  can  teach  him  nothing,  of  course,"  Jack 
murmured. 

Maria,  considering  the  conversation  unprofitable,  made 
a  sign  to  Csecilia  to  rise  and  bring  Neal  with  her,  leaving 
the  men  to  smoke.  Neal  soon  slipped  from  the  drawing- 
room,  however,  into  the  more  congenial  environment  of 
the  garden,  a  sweet,  formal  place,  its  rows  of  box  inclosing 
a  tangle  of  flowers,  its  lawns  bordered  with  lilac  bushes 
and  old-fashioned  shrubs.  The  warm  September  air,  though 
darkness  had  fallen,  was  still  drawing  out  of  the  earth 
pungent  odors  of  baked  grass  that  mingled  with  the  per- 
fume of  rose-geranium,  mignonette  and  late  roses.  In  the 
distance  the  lighthouses  were  blinking,  but  Neal's  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  quiet  town-lights  at  the  hill's  base.  Down 
there  dwelt  in  freedom  and  untrammeled  strength  a  popular 
Hero,  a  true  son  of  the  Republic,  who  did  not  have  to  go 
to  dancing  school,  and  who — incomparable  distinction ! — 
was  the  champion  pitcher  of  the  Terriers. 

Neal  yearned  to  let  Chick  McCoy  know  that  he  was  not 
really  a  gentleman,  even  if  the  Carmichaels  had  lived  upon 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  7 

the  Island  for  two  hundred  years;  that  he  was  uy  way 
of  being  a  great  pitcher  himself — having  trained  for  months 
on  the  academy  team ;  that  he  hated  kid  gloves  and  that  his 
high-life  relatives  (Aunt  Maria  especially)  were  no  fault 
of  his,  and  he  would  be  in  no  sense  responsible  for  their 
English  or  their  airs. 

But  his  thoughts  grew  less  tumultuous  as  he  watched 
the  harbor  lights,  and  nothing  mattered  much  after  awhile 
but  the  velvety  warmth  of  the  night,  and  its  little  stars, 
and  the  hot  odor  of  heliotrope  from  an  adjacent  flower-bed. 
Always  it  was  so — indoors  magnified  everything!  Out  of 
doors  took  him  far  from  perplexities,  for  when  he  was 
with  nature  he  lived  most  within  himself — in  a  chaotic 
boy-world  where  Chick  McCoy  met  the  Cid  and  shook 
hands  with  him;  and  Neal  himself  hunted  the  South  Pole, 
or  attended  as  a  diminutive  page  upon  Washington. 

After  a  time  he  was  aware  of  a  bright  spark  moving 
cautiously  over  the  lawn,  and  lay  very  still  until  he  was 
quite  sure  that  Uncle  Philip  and  not  Uncle  Jack  was  behind 
that  speck  of  light.  Neal  could  occasionally  understand 
his  scholarly  kinsman,  but  his  worldly  Uncle's  aims  and 
pursuits  were  inexplicable  to  him. 

Philip,  discovering  the  object  of  his  search,  dropped  him- 
self down  on  the  lawn  beside  Neal. 

"  Nice  night !  Maria  has  been  talking  to  me  on  the  public 
school  question.  She  takes  it  very  hard.  Are  you  so  keen 
for  it?" 

Neal  nodded  an  affirmative. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  Chick  McCoy " 

He  felt  himself  blushing  as  he  pronounced  the  name  of 
his  hero.  The  timbre  of  his  voice  sent  the  meditative 
mind  of  Philip  Carmichael  back  over  the  centuries  to  cer- 
tain classic  adorations,  youth  of  youth.  Between  Achilles 
and  Chick  McCoy  what  gulfs!  and — what  strange  com- 
munities ! 

"  There's  no  one  like  him  at  Bradford,"  Neal  elucidated. 
"  He  can  swim — miles !  Throw  anybody  in  a  wrestling 


8  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

match.  He's  a  crackerjack  at  all  games,  and  he  has  nine 
brothers  and  sisters." 

"  You've  delineated  a  hero." 

"  If — if  I  went  to  public  school  I  could  know  the  Chick." 

"  He  has  scorned  you,  then — for  being  mewed  up  in 
private  school." 

"  He  doesn't  know  I  live !    He's  in  things." 

"Aren't  you?" 

"  I've  never  proved  it." 

Philip  looked  at  the  boy's  graceful  limbs  and  thought 
his  own  thoughts,  as  to  what  "  things  "  life  would  eventu- 
ally put  him  in.  He  did  not  seem  fitted  physically  for 
certain  kinds  of  struggle,  unless  nerve  should  replace  muscle. 
Neal  in  his  fourteenth  year  was  tall  but  over-slender,  with 
an  appearance  of  delicacy  borne  out  by  the  too  sensitive 
chiseling  of  his  features,  and  the  deep  setting  of  his  blue 
eyes,  whose  somewhat  dreamy  expression  was  contradicted 
by  the  stubborn  chin.  But  Philip  understood  that  the  boy's 
poetical  appearance  really  hid  a  practical  and  determined 
nature,  a  little  ashamed  of  its  occasional  lapses  into 
dreaming. 

"  Maybe  you'll  get  your  chance  to  show  your  hero  what 
you  can  do  without  going  to  the  public  school,"  Philip 
said,  having  a  scholar's  mistrust  of  the  educational  value 
of  the  great  American  institution.  "  And  now  I  think 
you'd  better  go  in.  Your  grandfather  wants  a  game  of 
checkers  with  you." 

Neal  rose  reluctantly.-  As  they  approached  the  house 
he  said  with  some  embarrassment: 

"  The  Terriers  play  the  Coppers  to-morrow.  It  costs  a 
quarter  to  get  in." 

"  Have  you  the  quarter  ?  " 

"  It's  the  third  week  of  September,"  Neal  said  desperately. 
"  I'll  pay  you  back  the  first  of  October,  Uncle  Philip." 

There  was  a  quick  transfer. 

Neal,  on  his  way  to  the  library,  was  confronted  by  a 
feminine  vision.  His  cousin  Polly,  aged  seven,  attacked  by 
night-terrors,  had  been  found  at  the  foot  of  the  main  stair- 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  9 

case  by  her  mother,  who  was  now  holding  the  little  night- 
gowned  figure  tensely  in  her  arms,  the  train  of  her  dinner 
gown  wrapped  about  Polly's  feet.  The  child,  who  was  very 
beautiful  and  who  adored  her  boy  cousin,  held  out  her 
arms  to  him  now  with  a  drowsy  gesture. 

"  She  wants  to  kiss  you  good-night/'  her  mother  said. 
Neal  approaching  gingerly,  with  a  slight  frown  of  protest, 
bent  an  austere  cheek  to  the  full  red  lips  of  the  little 
girl,  then  proceeded  on  his  way  to  the  library.  His  Uncle 
Jack,  descending  the  stairs  with  the  flower  in  his  button- 
hole that  indicated  an  evening  of  philandering,  observed 
the  incident,  and  remarked : 

"  Some  day  some  woman  will  break  her  heart  for  Neal 
Carmichael  while  he's  pursuing  a  purpose." 

Maria  was  the  only  member  of  the  family  for  whom  Jack 
ever  put  aside  the  flippancy  of  his  jaded  youthfulness  to 
speak  the  truth.  As  a  rule  they  understood  each  other, 
but  on  this  evening  his  comment  awoke  the  maternal  tiger 
in  her.  Crushing  Polly  to  her  breast,  she  swept  past  him 
up  the  staircase. 

"  It  won't  be  my  daughter,"  she  said  with  spirit. 


CHAPTER  H 

SITTING  tip  in  bed,  his  knees  supporting  his  chin,  Xeal 
thought  dreamily  of  the  pleasures  before  him.  The  day's 
perspective  was  alluring — three  hours  in  the  company  of 
Titans  with  unlimited  lemonade  and  peanuts;  for  Uncle 
Philip,  remembering  that  it  was  the  eve  of  Xeal's  birthday, 
had  recalled  the  quarter,  exchanging  it  for  a  two-dollar  bill. 

"  Delia,"  he  called  to  his  old  nurse.    "  I  say,  Delia !" 

"  Yes,  me  son." 

"  No  parties  are  planned,  I  hope." 

The  servitor,  looking  critically  at  NeaTs  shoes,  vouchsafed 
no  reply. 

"  They  are  not  trying  to  surprise  roe,"  he  said  tragically. 

"Mrs.  Guthrie  wants  you  to  be  hope  punctual  from 
scbooL" 

'*  That  means  a  party.*' 

" Don't  yon  like  ice-cream?"  Delia  asked. 

"  I  wouldn't  give  up  seeing  Chick  McCoy  pitch  for  quarts 
of  ice-cream." 

"James  McCoy's  lad?" 

"Yes,  do  you  know  him?" 

0 Sure,  I  know  the  whole  family!  His  mother's  me  best 
friend.  James  McCoy  named  his  tug  after  her."* 

"  The  Chick's  father  isn't  captain  of  a  tug— is  he ! "  Neal 
cried  in  ecstasy.  Tie  romance  was  complete !  Now  away 
with  punctilious  ceremonies!  Into  the  mists  of  the  past 
with  dancing  pomps,  ladylike  manners,  little  girls  w*\  ice- 
cream on  slippery  plates.  Neal  was  for  the  open  world 
and  the  glories  of  manly  sport. 

"  Delia."  be  said  with  determination. 

She  was  drawing  the  water  for  his  bath  in  an  adjoining 
cubicle — a  ceremuuy  she  now  pa  formed  only  on  his  birth- 
day— and  she  <«"«*••••*  her  task  before  replying. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  n 

"  Delia's  me  name.  Speak  up,  for  I've  got  to  dress  Miss 
Polly." 

"  Don't  mention  the  game." 

"Are  ye  goin'  to  it?" 

"Jewel  of  Ireland,  I  am,"  Neal  replied  with  a  wag  of 
his  head. 

"  Mind  now,  I  warned  you  they  wanted  you ! " 

"  Sure — you  did."  Neal  mocked  gayly  at  her  retreating 
figure  and  made  for  his  bath. 

While  splashing  he  surveyed  the  landscape  through  an 
adjacent  window.  To  his  morning  fancy  the  old  house, 
which  had  sheltered  so  many  of  the  family,  seemed  ever 
to  be  expecting  some  good  fortune  long  delayed,  so  that 
Neal  had  formed  the  habit  of  gazing  out  over  the  waving 
treetops  towards  the  far  blue  that  was  the  ocean,  as  if  some 
day  he  should  see  the  triumphant  sails  of  a  craft  advancing, 
with  rich  intention,  towards  the  House  of  Carmichael.  He 
should  like  to  have  had  it  under  a  flag  of  piracy — but  the 
times  did  not  permit. 

Emerging  from  the  room  after  a  hasty  dressing,  he 
encountered  Aunt  Csecilia,  who  murmured  a  prayer  against 
his  forehead,  as  was  her  custom  on  his  birthday.  Neal  had 
suffered  at  her  hands  through  the  medium  of  catechism 
and  collects,  but  on  the  whole  he  was  fonder  of  her  than 
of  Aunt  Maria.  He  submitted  with  good  grace  to  the 
blessing,  but,  apprehensive  that  a  secular  moment  might 
immediately  follow,  with  cabalistic  references  to  party 
clothes,  he  made  his  escape.  Turning  a  sharp  corner  he 
collided  with  his  Uncle  Jack. 

"  Why  the  devil  can't  you  be  careful  ? "  that  worthy 
grumbled.  He  was  usually  cross  in  the  morning,  and 
patched  in  appearance,  as  if  his  youth  and  age  had  met 
by  clever  adjustment  the  night  before,  but  were  again  dis- 
parted. 

Neal  followed  his  inexplicable  uncle  meekly,  wondering 
if  he  could  get  through  breakfast  without  embarrassing 
questions  from  his  elders.  Fortunately  the  men  of  the 
family  were  soon  in  an  animated  discussion  of  some  local 


12  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

political  question,  so  he  and  his  little  cousin  Polly  were  left 
to  the  uninterrupted  consumption  of  their  oatmeal. 

An  hour  later  he  was  on  his  way  to  school,  choosing  a 
short  cut  through  a  plantation  of  scrub-oak  and  rhodo- 
dendron— the  haunt  of  innumerable  birds.  Neal,  having 
time  to  spare,  loitered  dreamily  through  this  little  forest, 
wondering  how  to  bring  himself  within  the  range  of  vision 
of  the  great  Chick. 

A  sudden  turn  of  the  path  astonished  him  with  the 
spectacle  of  his  Uncle  Jack,  whom  he  had  left  deep  in 
politics  at  the  breakfast  table,  and  by  his  side  a  red-cheeked 
young  woman,  of  full-blown  appearance,  whose  bold  eyes 
dropped  at  the  sight  of  Neal.  Jack  Carmichael  gave  a 
smothered  exclamation,  but  his  nephew  passed  him  rapidly, 
raising  his  hat,  with  no  second  glance. 

Meg  Barrow,  the  daughter  of  a  gardener  on  the  Car- 
michael estate,  nodded  over  her  shoulder  at  Neal's  re- 
treating figure. 

"Will  he  blab?" 

"  Does  he  look  as  if  he  would  ?  "  Jack  rapped  out. 

The  arena  upon  which  the  Terriers  and  the  Coppers  were 
to  meet  was  a  stretch  of  flat  meadow  land  between  the 
hills  and  the  sea.  To  Neal  there  was  exhilaration  in  the 
steaming  heat  of  the  September  afternoon,  in  the  rank  odor 
of  the  sea  marshes,  and  the  glare  of  the  white  sand  visible 
through  the  sedge,  in  the  vivid  coloring  of  the  players' 
stockings  and  the  freshly  painted  grand  stand.  An  odor 
of  hot  roasted  peanuts  pervaded  the  atmosphere.  Neal's 
money  was  already  burning  his  pocket. 

Bradford  Academy  was  well  represented  in  the  throng 
at  the  entrance  gate,  its  members  drawn  there  by  the  fas- 
cination which  snubbers  exercise  over  the  snubbed.  Neal 
soon  found  his  particular  chum,  Peter  Fleming,  a  merry 
lad  with  an  itch  of  adventure  in  his  veins  that  made  him 
an  excellent  Sancho  Panza  to  Neal's  Don  Quixote. 

"  I  have  three  dollars,"  Neal  announced. 

"  Where  did  you  get  them  ?  " 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  13 

"  Birthday." 

"  Of  course.    I'm  invited  to  your  party." 

This  lively  ghost,  it  seemed,  was  never  to  be  laid,  so 
Neal  exorcised  it  for  the  last  time. 

"  I've  cut  the  party." 

Peter  looked  at  him  admiringly. 

"  I  told  Mother  you  wouldn't  stand  for  it.  Mrs.  Guthrie 
invited  a  lot  of  girls." 

"  I  thought  so,"  Neal  said  gloomily. 

Having  stuffed  his  own  ears  against  the  song  of  the 
sirens  he  proceeded  to  insure  Peter's  immunity. 

"  We'll  see  the  game,  then  we'll  hang  around  a  bit,  just 
to  let  the  Terriers  know  we  don't  sulk.  Here,  I'll  get  the 
peanuts." 

"  I  suppose  Ada  will  wait  around  for  me  to  take  her," 
Peter  said  thoughtfully. 

"Who's  Ada?" 

"  My  cousin.  Her  father  and  mother's  dead — so  she's 
come  to  live  with  us." 

"  She  hasn't  fastened  herself  to  you,  has  she  ? "  Neal 
said  with  sympathy. 

"  She  tried  to.    She  wanted  to  see  the  game." 

Neal  groaned  in  very  ecstasy  of  escape.  They  were  by 
this  time  in  the  grand  stand  in  a  line  with  the  home  plate, 
and  delightfully  squeezed,  pushed,  jammed  and  poked  by 
the  restless  feet,  knees  and  elbows  of  a  perspiring  multitude 
of  fans  filling  the  stand  to  its  hot  tarred  roof.  The  Terriers 
in  home  uniforms,  as  the  Coppers  were  a  visiting  team, 
sauntered  on  the  edges  of  the  infield,  pawed  each  other, 
juggled  balls,  and  took  stock  of  their  idol  the  Chick,  who, 
slim  in  figure  as  a  Mercury,  was  rounding  up  the  team 
with  grim- jawed  bites  of  speech.  Soon  he  would  be  pitch- 
ing swift,  snakey  twirlers  which,  Neal  was  sure,  would 
render  the  man  at  the  bat  frantic  and  cross-eyed.  Through 
hours  of  anguished  emulation  Neal  had  practiced  that  de- 
livery, until  his  arm  was  half-paralyzed  and  Peter  would 
bat  for  him  no  more. 

"  Who's  the  new  short-stop  ?  "  Neal  inquired. 


i4  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  The  Chick's  brother." 

"  There's  a  new  left-fielder,  too.  Where's  the  grey- 
hound ? " 

"  His  family  moved  up-state.  The  Chick's  going  to  have 
a  try-out  next  Spring  with  a  bully  team — I've  forgotten  its 
name." 

"  He'll  deliver  the  goods,"  Neal  remarked. 

"  Surest  thing  you  know." 

"  McCreary's  batting  for  the  Cops." 

"  They  say  he's  a  bear  with  the  willow." 

The  umpire,  a  youth  with  an  eagle  eye,  iron  jaw  and  a 
"  both-be-damned  "  expression,  stepped  out  on  the  stroke 
of  the  hour,  and  announced  the  batteries.  McCoy  threw 
three  balls  to  an  infielder,  then  faced  the  man  at  the  bat. 

Two  strikes  were  declared  against  McCreary. 

Both  scored  goose-eggs  in  the  first  inning.  The  second 
began  with  a  two-bagger  to  right  field.  Neal  and  Peter, 
gorged  with  peanuts  and  hoarse  from  yelling,  had  forgotten 
everything  but  the  dizzy  excitement  of  the  occasion.  Mc- 
Coy's work  had  never  been  better. 

"  Holy  Smoke !  "  Peter  yelled,  when  McCoy  had  again 
made  a  fool  of  the  Coppers'  batsman.  "  That  Chick's  a 
mind-reader." 

"  He  makes  the  letter  S  look  like  a  flagpole,"  Neal 
commented,  then  he  clutched  Peter's  arm. 

"  There's  Graham." 

"Where?" 

"Over  there.    Duck!" 

They  watched  the  solemn-faced  butler  pursue  his  search, 
dodging  whenever  his  roving  eyes  looked  their  way.  Gra- 
ham's conscience  was  heavy,  apparently,  with  the  burden 
of  his  errand,  but  he  was  human.  Moreover,  he  had  money 
on  the  Coppers  and  a  nephew  in  that  team,  so,  after  a 
fruitless  effort  to  locate  the  truant  Neal  for  the  purpose 
of  haling  him  home  to  his  waiting  guests,  he  settled  himself 
to  enjoy  the  game  for  two  innings. 

The  Terriers  were  working  with  a  well-balanced,  machine- 
like  swing  when  an  accident  occurred  which  was  to  change 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  15 

not  only  the  order  of  the  game,  but  also,  and  materially, 
the  lives  of  several  individuals.  The  Chick,  away  at  the 
crack  of  the  bat,  started  to  run  to  third,  slipped,  and  as  he 
stretched  his  length  received  the  grinding  heel  of  a  fielder 
upon  his  wrist.  The  Copper  fans  started  a  yell,  which 
was  downed  by  a  groan  from  the  Terrier  champions  when 
it  was  seen  that  the  Chick  lay  quite  still,  stunned  appar- 
ently by  a  blow  from  the  shoe  in  its  lively  effort  to  release 
the  wrist.  Its  owner  was  now  bending  over  the  Chick's 
motionless  figure  with  a  frightened  face. 

"  They've  spiked  his  wrist,"  Peter  yelled. 

Neal,  pale  and  speechless,  hurled  himself  into  the  nearest 
passageway,  and  was  among  the  first  of  the  spectators  to 
reach  the  Chick's  side,  pushing  his  way  through  the  team 
which  had  gathered  about  its  leader  and  calling  to  them 
to  fetch  water.  Made  bold  by  devotion,  he  raised  the 
Chick's  hand,  tenderly  touching  the  injured  wrist  with  his 
sensitive  fingers.  The  Chick's  eyes  opened  at  last  and  ex- 
changed with  Neal's  a  long  demanding  look;  then  he  sat 
up,  uttering  a  smothered  howl  as  shooting  pains  in  his  wrist 
reminded  him  of  what  had  happened. 

"  You  better  make  a  run  to  the  doctor's,"  Neal  sug- 
gested. 

The  Chick  grunted,  groaned,  stared  at  him,  gazed  with 
bitter  contempt  at  his  wrist,  and  looked  around  at  his  under- 
lings with  an  air  of  finding  them  all  wanting.  He  blun- 
dered at  last  to  his  feet. 

"  Where's  Brown?"  he  demanded  of  the  bewildered  and 
incoherent  Terriers. 

"  Ain't  here,"  a  fielder  replied. 

In  that  instant  the  voice  of  his  great  opportunity  spoke 
to  Neal.  He  essayed  to  speak;  but,  restrained  by  the  dif- 
fidence of  all  adorers  since  the  world  began,  he  could  not 
voice  the  battle-cry  in  his  heart,  "  Let  me  pitch,  O 
Achilles ! " 

The  Chick  was  gazing  gloomily  about  him. 

"  That  ends  it." 

Then  Neal's  tongue  was  loosed. 


16  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  Let  me  pitch.  I've  watched  you.  I've  practiced  the 
trick  for  months."  He  waited,  his  eyes  shining  stars. 

The  Chick,  wheeling  about,  measured  him  inch  by  inch, 
Neal  blushing  furiously  the  while.  The  scrutiny  was  not 
so  long  as  it  might  have  been  had  Neal  been  as  unfamiliar 
to  McCoy  as  he  imagined  himself. 

"  You've  got  nerve  to  want  to  take  my  place  in  the  box. 
Right-hander?  Hold  out  your  paw." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  an  ordeal,  for  Neal  had  been 
ashamed  of  his  long  slender  fingers  ever  since  he  had  been 
dubbed  "  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  "  because  of  them  in  the 
classic  haunts  of  Bradford. 

"  That  ain't  a  pitcher's  paw,  young  'un,"  the  Chick  com- 
mented. A  laugh  followed,  but  Neal's  months  of  hero- 
worship  had  toughened  some  fiber  of  persistence  in  him. 

"  Give  me  a  try,"  he  said  stubbornly. 

The  umpire's  under  lip  shot  out. 

"  Him!  "  he  scorned. 

A  chorus  echoed.  "  Him !  He  ain't  no  good.  Send  him 
back  to  his  mother." 

"  Oh,  shut  up !    He  hasn't  any,"  the  Chick  retorted. 

Neal,  amazed  by  this  knowledge  of  his  family  affairs, 
received  the  Chick's  words  as  an  accolade  of  friendship. 
He  saw  signs  of  yielding  in  the  Hero's  face,  but  on  the 
verge  of  this  supreme  attainment  a  heavy  hand  was  laid 
on  his  shoulder,  having  reached  there  across  the  inter- 
vening bulk  of  the  faithful  Peter,  who,  seeing  the  fat  form 
of  danger  approaching  in  the  person  of  the  butler  Graham, 
had  bumped  against  Neal  by  way  of  warning. 

"  Your  Aunt  Maria  says  you're  to  come  home  to  the 
party,  Master  Neal,"  the  unsuitable  Graham  announced  in 
a  high  rasping  voice  that  reached  to  the  outer  edge  of  the 
circle. 

A  yell  of  laughter  and  derision  followed  this  pronounce- 
ment. 

"  Go  home  to  the  party,  Master  Neal.  Aunt  Maria  wants 
you,  Master  Neal." 

Even  Graham's  squeak  was  imitated.     The  only  thing 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  17 

that  kept  Neal  steady  during  this  ordeal  was  the  Chick's 
appraising  silence.  He  was  so  manifestly  preparing  for  some 
decision  that  the  crowd  soon  subsided  to  listen. 

"  Aw,  what's  the  use  ? "  said  the  Hero  to  the  umpire. 
"  Neither  White  nor  the  Dago  could  last  one-half  hour  in 
the  box,  not  if  the  Coppers  had  their  eyes  shut  and  one 
hand  lashed  behind  them.  There's  nothing  to  it  but  this 
young  'un."  Then,  turning  to  Neal,  now  trembling  with 
delight,  he  added :  "  Do  it  your  own  way,  kid,  only  give 
'em  hell.  If  you  make  good  111  buy  you  the  earth  with  a 
fence  around  it." 

Graham  capitulated,  seeing  a  chance  to  win  his  bet. 

Neal's  knees  wavered  slightly  when  he  walked  to  the 
box.  There  was  a  constriction  about  his  temples  as  if  a 
cord  had  been  knotted  there  and  twisted  tight.  He  muffed 
the  ball  the  umpire  tossed  out  to  him,  and  half  the  grand 
stand  rose  as  one  man  and  hooted  loud,  long  and  joyously. 
To  steady  himself  Neal  bent  over  and  deliberately  untied 
and  retied  his  right  shoestring.  Then  he  did  the  same  for  his 
left.  After  that  he  rolled  the  ball  in  the  dust,  got  a  good 
grip  on  it  and  delivered  a  lightning  straight  one  and  two 
puzzling  inshoots  to  Baggsy  Sullivan,  who  stood  behind 
the  plate  to  take  the  three  allowed  by  law  before  the  first 
batter  came  up. 

Red  Hogan  stood  leaning  on  a  bat  about  as  long  as  him- 
self, watching,  with  lofty  amusement,  the  new  pitcher. 
Presently  he  spat  on  his  hands,  stepped  up  to  the  plate 
and  announced  his  intention  of  knocking  the  trademark  off 
with  no  uncertain  touch. 

Neal  paused  five  seconds  to  size  him  up,  and  felt  the 
cord  around  his  temples  tighten  again.  Fifty  feet  away,  the 
distance  between  Red's  shoulders  and  his  knees  appeared 
inconsiderable,  but  the  square  pugnacity  of  his  jaw  and 
the  knotted  muscles  in  his  bare  forearm  were  prominent 
factors  in  the  problem  that  the  new  pitcher  set  himself  to 
solve.  Neal  had  told  himself  that  he  would  use  his  head 
from  the  start,  study  each  batter  like  a  diagram  in  his 
school  geometry,  and  then  proceed  to  outguess  him  delib- 


i8  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

erately.  As  it  happened,  he  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  Red 
Hogan  grinned  fiendishly,  sticking  his  tongue  out  at  the 
pitcher  as  he  lifted  his  bat. 

Neal  "  saw  red  "  more  pronounced  than  the  frowsy  hair 
and  freckled  face  in  front  of  him,  and  sent  his  first  ball 
as  straight  and  fast  as  he  could  deliver  it  at  his  enemy's 
head. 

Red  Hogan,  having  no  desire  to  be  "  beaned,"  moved  with 
a  nervous  haste  that  made  the  delivery  of  the  next  ball  a 
matter  of  sheer  instinct.  The  ball  seemed  to  start  straight 
for  his  head,  as  before.  Just  before  reaching  him  it  dropped 
slightly  below  his  shoulder  and  curved  out  over  a  corner 
of  the  plate.  Neal  followed  this  first  stroke  with  another 
that  was  its  exact  duplicate  until  Red  managed  to  foul  it 
off,  sending  it  sharply  into  the  grand  stand  behind  him. 
The  fourth  ball  was  a  straight  one  that  cut  the  plate  clearly 
even  with  Red's  shoulder.  Red  struck  under  this,  ex- 
pecting it  to  drop,  and  retired  to  the  player's  bench  after 
flinging  his  bat  halfway  across  the  diamond. 

The  second  batter  up  hit  the  first  ball,  and  drove  a  scream- 
ing line  fly  that  the  short-stop  picked  out  of  the  sky  with 
one  gloved  hand.  The  next  two  men  struck  out,  as  a  result 
of  Neal's  mixing  a  slow  drop,  occasionally,  with  the  two 
balls  he  used  to  start  the  game. 

He  had  read  somewhere  that  very  few  players  in  any 
League  can  hit  a  high  fast  curve  or  a  straight  that  breaks 
close  to  their  shoulder  consistently,  and  during  the  next 
three  innings,  when  the  Coppers  were  at  bat,  he  demon- 
strated the  truth  of  this  axiom  to  his  own  satisfaction,  and 
that  of  every  other  Terrier  player  and  fan,  who  roared 
themselves  hoarser  and  hoarser  as  the  game  went  on. 

The  Chick  had  forgotten  his  pain  and  was  waving  his 
good  arm  and  yelling  with  Comanche  fervor.  Peter  watched 
his  chum  in  an  ecstasy  of  admiration.  Graham  was  divided 
between  pride  of  the  House  he  served  and  dejection  over 
the  loss  of  his  bet. 

A  roar  of  triumph  announced  at  last  the  victory  of  the 
Terriers.  The  grand  stand  poured  itself  out  over  the  dia- 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  19 

mond;  Neal  was  slapped  on  the  back  and  had  his  arm 
wrung  nearly  out  of  its  socket.  But  he  had  but  one  thought 
— to  lay  this  victory  at  his  idol's  feet.  The  proudest  mo- 
ment of  his  life  was  when  the  Chick,  looking  down  upon 
him  with  a  kind  of  paternal  tenderness,  said  nonchalantly: 

"  Good  work.    You'll  sign  with  the  Terriers." 

"  Won't  I !  "  Neal  gurgled. 

"  Pretty  good  for  a  swell,  eh  ?  "  said  a  bystander. 

"  He  ain't  no  swell,"  the  Chick  gave  back.  "  He's  the 
real  stuff." 


CHAPTER  III 

NEAL,  escorting  his  hero  home — the  dazzled  Graham  had 
capitulated — was  to  have  one  more  reminder  of  the  aris- 
tocracy on  the  hill.  Just  outside  the  field  he  met  Charles 
Divine,  a  neighbor  of  the  Carmichaels  and  the  famous 
editor  of  one  of  the  dailies  in  a  neighboring  city.  Neal 
admired  him  immensely,  but  upon  this  occasion  he  would 
have  liked  to  slip  by  him.  He  could  not  ignore,  however, 
the  friendly  hand  held  out  to  him. 

"  That  was  good  work,  Neal.  I've  a  mind  to  give  you 
half  a  column  to-morrow." 

Neal  murmured  his  thanks.  McCoy  beamed.  He  swore 
by  the  sporting  page  of  The  Courier. 

The  house  occupied  by  the  McCoy  family  was  an  old 
one  facing  the  water  and  not  far  from  the  dock  to  which 
the  Mary  McCoy  was  moored  in  its  rare  moments  of  leisure. 
Children  overflowed  its  broad  porch — like  a  comfortable  lap 
— and  its  old-fashioned  garden.  Seated  upon  the  flat  top 
of  a  gatepost,  the  eldest  daughter  Patricia,  a  lank,  gray- 
eyed  girl  of  thirteen,  had  been  watching  for  the  last  half- 
hour  for  her  brother  James — the  name  in  private  life  of 
the  great  Chick. 

Meanwhile,  the  boy  who  was  to  change  the  whole  course 
of  her  existence  was  advancing  nearer  and  nearer,  still 
flushed  with  the  joy  of  his  triumph.  A  turn  of  the  street 
bringing  the  three  boys  into  view,  Patricia  perceived  that 
her  brother  was  not  alone  and  knit  her  dark  brows  in 
jealous  protest,  for  James  would  be  sure  to  ask  "  the  tag- 
gers," as  she  mentally  called  them,  to  stay  to  supper.  The 
forms  of  the  offending  hero-worshipers  being  at  that  dis- 
tance unfamiliar  to  her,  she  turned  her  back  upon  them  as 
intruders  and  looked  out  over  the  bay.  In  her  Saturday 

80 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  21 

afternoon  white  muslin,  her  long  legs  dangling  against  the 
gatepost,  she  was  a  more  prominent  object  than  she  knew. 
Neal,  eying  her  with  disapproval  merely  because  she  was 
a  girl,  wondered  why  all  delightful  chums  should  have  some- 
thing feminine  related  to  them.  Even  poor  Peter,  once  so 
carefree,  was  now  saddled  with  a  girl-cousin.  This  black- 
haired  creature  on  the  gatepost  was  probably  a  sister  of  the 
Chick's — a  suspicion  confirmed  by  McCoy's  pulling  her  long 
braid  like  a  bell-rope. 

"Hello,  Pat!" 

She  turned  angrily,  but  at  the  sight  of  her  brother's  com- 
panions she  checked  her  words,  growing  as  scarlet  as  a 
peony,  for  Neal  Carmichael,  the  haughty  hill-dweller  and 
the  object  of  her  secret  admiration,  stood  before  her. 

"  My  sister  Patricia,"  James  said  casually.  "  Carmichael's 
joined  the  Terriers,  Pat.  He  pitched  to-day — saved  the 
game." 

"  Where  were  you?  "  she  inquired  jealously. 

"  I  hurt  my  wrist." 

She  was  off  the  post  and  at  his  side  in  an  instant,  giving 
a  little  cry  of  concern  as  she  took  the  limp  hand  most 
tenderly  in  hers. 

In  the  midst  of  the  excitement  over  James,  his  father 
arrived,  a  tall,  muscular  man,  with  a  network  of  humorous 
lines  about  his  clear  eyes  and  close-set,  kindly  mouth. 
Neither  he  nor  his  gentle  wife  seemed  much  disturbed  by 
James's  adventure,  arousing  Neal's  admiration  of  their  do- 
mestic nonchalance,  as  if  in  a  family  of  ten  children  the 
casual  attitude  towards  a  day's  fortunes  was  a  necessity. 

Mrs.  McCoy,  who  had  the  natural  dignity  of  manner 
belonging  to  character,  sent  off  for  the  doctor,  then  turned 
her  attention  to  her  son's  guests.  Neal  and  Patricia,  with 
the  instinct  of  two  adorers  to  discover  their  mutual  emotion, 
had  been  meanwhile  appraising  each  other.  This  Patricia — 
since  heroes  must  be  hampered  with  sisters — seemed  to  have 
qualifications  for  the  honor,  being  a  silent,  watchful,  yet 
fiery  kind  of  a  girl,  straight  as  a  pine  tree,  with  a  level 
glance  that  measured  Neal  and  Peter  as  candidates  for  some 


22  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

accolade  not  of  James's  bestowing.  She  talked  most 
with  Peter,  but  her  eyes,  shadowy  beneath  their  thick 
lashes,  were  always  upon  Neal  when  his  own  were  turned 
away. 

To  this  gallery  of  the  proletariat — Neal  was  beginning  to 
find  them  all  delightful — was  added  after  a  time  the  family 
physician,  a  Dr.  Murphy,  who  seemed  amply  endowed  with 
that  rare  quality,  common  sense,  his  son  Thomas,  who  im- 
mediately sought  out  Patricia ;  and  Father  Carew,  a  rotund, 
kindly  looking  Catholic  priest,  who  said  to  James : 

"  I  heard  ye  were  hurt,  me  lad,  so  as  I  was  passin'  I 
thought  I'd  inquire  what  you've  been  up  to  now." 

"  Broke  his  southpaw,  Father,"  the  assembled  children 
informed  him  in  sympathetic  chorus. 

"  What  a  haythen  term  to  give  to  a  member  of  the  body — 
like  the  name  of  an  American  Indian.  Well,  it's  lucky  you 
can  use  your  right  hand  for  writin'  an'  figurin'  an'  other 
unimportant  matters,  James,  me  boy,"  the  priest  commented, 
adding,  for  he  was  tender-hearted,  "  Och !  careful,  Murphy ; 
ye're  hurtin'  the  lad." 

"  He'll  have  to  stand  it  if  he  wants  to  pitch  for  the 
Terriers  next  Spring,"  the  doctor  answered,  while  James 
nodded  casually  at  Neal. 

"  I've  a  bully  understudy,  Doctor." 

Neal  glowed  with  pride.  At  last  he  was  in  that  real  life 
for  which  he  had  yearned.  These  people  were  of  stern  and 
sturdy  stuff,  unhampered  by  the  contractions  of  gentility. 
And  those  misguided  relatives  on  the  hill  had  actually 
thought  that  a  birthday  party  could  compensate  him  for 
these  bracing  contacts. 

At  supper,  to  which  Neal  and  Peter  stayed  as  a  matter 
of  course  (no  preliminary  fusses  here),  the  tug  captain, 
the  doctor  and  the  priest  began  to  talk  of  village  matters, 
and  Neal  inferred  that  certain  hill-dwellers  were  not  looked 
upon  with  favor  by  the  people  along  the  shore.  He  listened 
to  a  new  vocabulary,  looked  down  an  unfamiliar  perspective 
and  found  himself  growing  curious,  accusative,  as  he  won- 
dered how  the  early  Carmichaels  had  made  their  money, 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  23 

and  if  they  had  been  good  to  the  poor.  The  talk  drifting 
to  long-ago  days,  Father  Carew  spoke  of  Garibaldi,  and 
of  his  living  in  poverty  and  exile  on  the  Island,  working  as 
a  day-laborer  in  a  factory.  Neal,  already  tuned  to  hero- 
worship  by  recent  events,  resolved  to  identify  himself  hence- 
forth with  the  commoners,  the  breeding-class  of  those  who 
endure  and  are  glorious.  Patricia,  at  the  same  moment 
admiring  the  way  Neal  and  Peter  handled  their  knives  and 
forks,  was  aspiring  to  the  aristocracy  in  inverse  ratio  to 
Neal's  descending  fancy. 

But  a  glorious  afternoon  and  evening  were  to  flower 
into  a  real  miracle,  a  ride  in  McCoy's  tug,  proposed  by 
that  gallant  captain  himself.  Neal,  scarcely  able  to  articu- 
late for  joy,  went  to  the  telephone  to  inform  his  family  on 
the  hill  of  this  chance  of  a  lifetime.  He  was  soon  made 
conscious  of  a  lack  of  sympathy  somewhere  on  the  wires. 
Alexander  Carmichael's  return  message  was  succinct  and 
direct. 

"  Since  you  have  taken  the  day  into  your  own  hands,  you 
might  as  well  finish  it.  Miss  Fleming  waits  to  congratulate 
you.  We  shall  keep  her  until  Peter  comes.  Don't  be  later 
than  nine,  as  you  must  make  your  apologies  to  your  aunts 
between  then  and  bedtime." 

The  earlier  generation  was  at  its  old  inhuman  trick  of 
tying  a  string  to  its  presents.  Peter's  mother  was  slightly 
satirical  also  over  the  wires ;  but  even  a  chilly  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  glad  surprises  of  existence  being  better  than 
none,  the  boys  returned  with  enthusiasm  to  their  delightful 
hosts. 

They  were  all  marshaled  on  the  tug  at  last,  and  one 
of  the  dreams  of  Neal's  short  existence  came  true,  for  he 
had  always  loved  those  breathless,  panting,  choky  objects 
called  tugs,  forever  hurrying  on  their  errands  as  if  very 
late,  and  always  so  lovingly  near  the  water  that  leaning 
over  the  edge  one  could  almost  touch  the  swelling  waves — 
so  close  to  the  pulsing  heart  of  the  engine,  too,  that  one 
was  a  part  of  its  fire  and  energy — could  be  at  once  very 
cool  and  very  warm.  Neal  was  to  find  later  that  to  be  both 


24  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

cool  and  warm  was  in  this  life  one  way  of  mastering 
existence. 

He  sat  high  in  the  bow  above  the  shaggy  rope-apron 
that  looked  like  the  tug's  beard.  The  low  September  stars 
were  floating  into  view  above  the  apricot  sky  of  sunset. 
The  dark  hills  of  the  Island  were  dotted  with  lights,  and 
in  the  distance  the  shores  of  another  Island  stretched  like 
a  blue  mist,  while  far  off  the  stupendous  city  hung  a  mon- 
strous constellation  against  the  Northern  sky. 

An  ocean  tramp  with  red,  battered  iron  sides,  anchored 
in  the  bay,  was  the  first  object  of  the  Mary  McCoy's  investi- 
gation. McCoy  took  his  tug  up  to  her,  exchanging  hearty 
greetings  with  the  captain,  while  the  crew,  foreigners,  with 
dark-bearded  faces,  leaned  over  the  sides  and  peering 
through  the  yellow  twilight  showed  their  white  teeth  as 
they  smiled  at  the  cargo  of  children. 

The  blur  of  white  that  was  Patricia  remained  motionless 
and  speechless,  but  through  the  twilight  her  eyes  were 
drawn  again  and  again  to  Neal's  face.  That  he  politely 
ignored  her  only  added  to  his  charm,  born,  as  usual,  of 
mystery.  What  did  he  say  and  how  did  he  act  in  that 
great  house  on  the  hill  with  the  fine  ladies,  his  aunts,  and 
his  erect,  stern  grandfather?  She  was  beginning  to  feel 
ashamed  of  the  fact  that  his  old  nurse  Delia  was  a  friend 
of  her  mother's. 

"  Patricia,  sing  for  us." 

The  Chick  suddenly  broke  the  silence  with  this  command. 
For  a  moment  she  was  too  embarrassed  to  beg  off,  and  her 
brother  threw  out  a  peremptory,  "  Go  ahead,  old  girl." 

She  hesitated,  not  from  doubt  of  herself,  for  she  pos- 
sessed a  sweet  contralto,  but  because  she  was  afraid  her 
voice  might  quiver  if  for  one  instant  her  mind  turned  from 
the  song  to  the  fact  of  the  splendor  of  her  audience. 

"  Give  us  a  song,  Pat,"  her  father  said  coaxingly. 

She  hesitated  a  moment  longer,  then  began  the  sweet  old 
Irish  melody, 

"Oh,  the  days  of  the  Kerry  dances, 
Oh,  the  ring  of  the  piper's  lay." 


;  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  25 

Neal  had  rarely  heard- the  unaccompanied  singing  voice. 
As  he  listened  he  was  drawn  far  away  from  baseball  to  a 
country  to  which  he  was  sometimes  admitted  by  his  Uncle 
Philip  when  the  latter  read  Keats  or  Shelley  to  him;  and 
Neal  was  first  impatient,  then  subdued,  then  sharply  stirred 
as  if  by  the  faery-horns  of  elf-land.  He  was  conquered 
now  as  the  clear  voice  floated  far  out  over  the  water,  and 
two  men  in  a  distant  rowboat  rested  on  their  oars  to  listen. 

When  she  had  finished,  her  father  said : 

"  Now  the  Dixit  Dominus,  Pat." 

Patricia  sang  with  her  mother  in  the  choir  of  St.  Mar- 
garet's, Father  Carew's  church,  women  not  being  then 
excluded  from  the  choirs,  and  she  knew  most  of  the  Latin 
chants  by  heart ;  so  she  began  the  slow,  grave,  stately  music, 
with  its  pathetic  minor  note  of  pleading.  Neal,  who  had 
never  heard  anything  like  it,  wished  that  she  would  not 
go  on.  The  Kerry  dances  were  more  to  his  taste  than  these 
strange  Latin  words  set  to  music  that  sounded  like  a  sob. 
But  the  others  evidently  took  Gregorian  chants  very  much 
as  a  matter  of  course,  for  the  Chick  whistled  a  soft  accom- 
paniment, and  the  captain  beat  time,  his  honest  eyes  looking 
far  out  to  sea. 

An  hour  later  Neal  and  Peter  endured  the  ordeal  of  facing 
a  circle  of  adults  with  whom  they  were  manifestly  not  in  the 
highest  favor.  Uncle  Jack  alone  seemed  amused  by  Neal's 
disposal  of  his  birthday.  This  battered  relative,  strolling 
in  from  the  billiard-room,  surveyed  the  young  offenders 
nonchalantly  and  requested  the  baseball  score;  but  grand- 
father Carmichael,  with  his  Order-of-the-Garter  air,  in- 
formed Neal  that  his  rudeness  to  his  Aunt  Maria  must  be 
explained  and  apologized  for.  She  was  playing  Lotto  in 
the  library  with  little  Miss  Fleming — the  new  female  draw- 
back in  the  gallant  Peter's  existence. 

Neal  looked  at  his  chum  with  resignation.  They  might 
as  well  face  the  music  and  be  done  with  it.  Peter  nodding 
acquiescence,  the  two  crossed  the  hall  and  presented  them- 
selves at  the  doorway.  Maria  and  Caecilia  were  seated  on 


26  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

opposite  sides  of  a  low  table,  and  between  them,  with  the 
air  of  a  grown-up  belle,  sat  a  little  girl  who  had  evidently 
subdued  these  ladies  by  the  double  force  of  beauty  and  an 
unchildlike  indifference.  She  was  permitting  them  to  en- 
tertain her  with  perfect  politeness  and  tolerance.  As  she 
saw  her  cousin  in  the  doorway  she  put  back  a  curl,  smoothed 
a  ribbon,  looked  rather  haughtily  at  Neal,  and  said  to  her 
kinsman  : 

"  At  last  you've  come,  Peter." 

Neal  instinctively  felt  that  no  explanations  would  be  de- 
manded of  him  in  the  presence  at  least  of  this  assured  young 
lady  whose  years  scarcely  numbered  twelve;  and  he  was 
right.  Aunt  Maria,  under  some  subtle  influence  of  the 
amazing  Ada,  received  him  as  if  he  were  grown  up. 

"  Here  is  our  truant  host,  who  did  not  know,  I'm  sure, 
what  guests  were  expected,  or  he  would  certainly  have 
returned  in  time.  After  all,  Ada,  we  didn't  really  tell  him 
there  was  to  be  a  party." 

The  little  girl  smiled. 

"Didn't  the  butler  tell  him?"  she  inquired.  "Peter,  I 
am  afraid  you  are  to  blame,  too." 

Her  voice  was  too  controlled  for  a  child's,  yet  there  was 
an  infantile  sweetness  in  it,  a  trailing  inflection  as  if  she 
scarcely  thought  it  worth  while  to  speak  at  all.  Neal  re- 
sponded to  it  with  the  first  curiosity  he  had  ever  felt 
regarding  a  girl.  This  one  was  slim  and  pale  as  a  princess 
in  a  picture-book.  Her  beautiful  lacey  dress  and  white 
silk  stockings  added  to  the  effect  of  luxury  that  she  pro- 
duced— of  something  foreign  and  daintily  cared  for.  Neal 
wondered  vaguely  why  Peter  hadn't  said  more  about  her. 
He  looked  shyly  at  her  when  he  shook  hands  with  her,  and 
muttered  something  about  being  sorry.  She  received  this 
in  silence. 

"  Ready  to  go  home,  Ada  ?  "  Peter  asked  cheerfully. 

"  I  am  not  anxious  to  go  home,"  she  replied.  "  Mrs. 
Guthrie  and  Miss  Carmichael  were  giving  me  a  very  nice 
time,  but  I  am  afraid  I  have  taken  too  much  of  their 
evening." 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  27 

This  was  a  "  grown-up  "  speech,  yet  somehow  it  didn't 
affect  Neal  as  unpleasantly  as  wisdom  in  the  mouth  of 
babes  generally  did.  Its  reactionary  influence  upon  him 
was  to  make  him  somewhat  annoyed  with  himself  that  he 
had  been  so  delighted  with  a  mere  ride  in  a  tug.  And  when 
Aunt  Csecilia  said  with  her  gentle  enthusiasm  over  an- 
other's pleasure,  "  We've  saved  some  ice-cream  for  you," 
Neal  replied  stiffly :  "  Thanks,  I  don't  care  for  any,  Aunt 
Caecilia." 

"  Crickey !  I  do ! "  exploded  the  amazed  Peter.  Then 
Neal  emerged  from  the  hypnotic  state  of  not-boy  into  which 
Ada  had  thrown  him  and  became  himself  again.  Without 
flourishes  the  two  made  a  bolt  for  the  dining-room. 

On  their  return  they  found  a  cloaked  princess  waiting  to 
be  escorted  home.  As  the  young  lady  shook  hands  with 
Neal,  she  said :  "  The  next  time  you  have  a  party  I  shall 
expect  you  to  be  here."  He  was  too  astonished  to  answer. 

But  even  Aunt  Maria  had  to  be  forgiven  after  such  a 
birthday;  so  he  meekly  asked  her  pardon  and  went  to  bed, 
at  peace  with  all  the  world,  with  the  exception  of  one  person. 
A  feeling  possessed  him  that  Ada  Fleming  had  not  really 
forgiven  him.  Perhaps  because  of  this  her  impassive  face 
obscured  even  the  baseball  game  as  he  sank  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  FEW  days  later  Alexander  Carmichael  summoned  his 
grandson  to  a  conference  in  the  library,  the  assistant  at  the 
ceremony  being  Uncle  Philip. 

"  I've  been  talking  with  your  uncle,  Neal,"  he  announced. 
"  We  agree  that  you  have  too  many  masters  in  this  house, 
including  Graham  and  Delia,  with  the  consequence  that  you 
obey  no  one.  You  shall  choose  now  who  shall  issue  orders 
to  you  henceforth,  whether  Maria,  Caecilia,  Philip  or  my- 
self." 

Neal  observed  that  his  Uncle  Jack  was  not  included 
among  the  fosterers  of  youth.  The  two  ladies  he  mentally 
eliminated  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  this  narrowing  of 
choice  was  a  source  of  embarrassment,  for  to  award  the 
mentorship  either  to  his  grandfather  or  to  Philip  was  to 
forfeit  some  privilege  only  accorded  by  one  of  the  pair. 
His  mind  went  rapidly  over  his  short,  boy  history  for 
statistics  of  permissions  and  refusals.  The  balance  was  in 
favor  of  Pfiilip,  who  was  so  absent-minded  that  he  would 
let  Neal  do  anything;  but  fond  as  he  was  of  this  kinsman, 
Neal  mistrusted  his  judgment  because  he  read  books  so 
much.  His  grandfather,  on  the  other  hand,  rarely  opened 
a  book,  but  he  had  been  a  soldier,  a  lawyer,  a  judge — in 
short,  a  real  person;  so  Neal  awarded  him  the  apple  on 
which  his  own  wisdom  teeth  were  to  be  cut. 

Philip  Carmichael  had  a  passing  throb  of  jealousy,  for 
his  nephew  seemed  like  his  own  son,  but  he  applauded 
Neal's  choice.  Grandfather  Alexander  proceeded  with  in- 
structions : 

"  You  report  to  me  then,  Sir.  My  permission  overrules 
all  secondary  refusals,  and  vice  versa.  It's  high  time,  any- 
way, you  were  out  from  under  petticoat  rule." 

28 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  29 

"  I'd  like  to  ask  for  something  now,"  Neal  said,  taking 
advantage  of  this  novel  situation. 

"  Well,  out  with  it." 

"  The  McCoys  are  a  fine  family — and  I  think  you  said 
you  didn't  want  me  to  be  a  snob." 

"  I  didn't  forbid  you  being  an  artistocrat,  however," 
the  old  man  said  proudly.  "  There  is  a  difference,  you 
know." 

Neal  was  in  no  mood  for  word-sifting.  His  soul  burned 
with  love  of  his  absent,  new-made  friend. 

"  They  were  awfully  decent  to  me,  Grandfather.  I  want 
to  give  a  party  and  invite  the  Chick  and  Patricia,  and  as 
many  more  as  will  come." 

"  Do  you  want  Peter's  cousin  Ada,  too  ? "  his  grand- 
father inquired. 

To  his  annoyance,  Neal  felt  himself  reddening.  His 
grandfather  laughed  with  sudden  relief  as  he  perceived  that 
not  Patricia,  but  Ada  of  Neal's  own  circle,  had  established 
her  influence  over  his  boyish  fancy.  Alec  could  never  for- 
give his  son  Jack's  easy  ways  with  women  out  of  his  class. 

"  Would  you  invite  both  together  ? "  Philip  questioned, 
foreseeing  difficulties. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Neal  returned.  "  I  don't  care  what  girls 
come  or  stay  away  so  the  Chick  comes." 

"  When  do  you  want  to  have  this  party  ?  " 

"  Immediately." 

"  Well,  get  off  your  invitations,  but  remember  this  is  your 
experiment.  If  it  doesn't  turn  out  well,  you  are  responsible 
as  master  of  ceremonies." 

"  Oh,  Peter  will  help  me  make  a  go  of  it,"  Neal  said 
lightly.  He  was  in  the  first  exhilaration  of  his  release  from 
feminine  dictatorship  and  all  things  seemed  possible. 

By  dinner-time  the  household  was  in  possession  both  of 
the  news  of  Neal's  choice  of  virile  government  and  of  his 
first  privilege  under  the  new  regime.  Mrs.  Guthrie  could 
scarcely  restrain  her  impatience. 

"  You  see  what  comes  of  association  with  common  boys," 
she  complained.  "If  you  must  have  your  friends  from  the 


30  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

village,  Neal,  why  don't  you  have  them  alone?  Why  do 
you  ask  the  Bradford  Academy  set  to  meet  them?  I  shall 
write  Mrs.  Fleming  the  circumstances,  so  she  can  send  Ada 
or  not — as  she  likes." 

Neal  thought  he  should  like  to  see  Ada  again.  After 
dinner  he  went  into  the  library  to  perform  himself  the 
arduous  task  of  writing  her  a  note. 

The  library  was  a  faded  room  whose  soft  browns  and 
russets  bloomed  faintly  into  rose  above  the  fireplace,  where 
hung  the  portrait  of  an  ancestress  of  Neal's  in  a  gown  of 
pinkish  silk,  with  a  basket  of  flat  pale  roses  on  her  knee. 
She  was  the  one  representative  of  her  sex  whom  he  found 
companionable  because  she  had  nothing  to  say  to  him.  Her 
long  eyes  were  always  watching  her  lover  in  the  saffron 
background  of  the  picture  where  the  pillared  mansion  of 
the  Carmichaels  was  shown,  a  flag  flying  from  its  circular 
"  walk  "  on  the  roof,  and  beyond  it  a  glimpse  of  the  sea 
with  a  vessel  upon  it,  enduring  a  dead  calm  while  a  thunder- 
storm lurked  in  clouds  like  feather  beds  upon  the  distant 
horizon. 

Neal  always  marveled  that  people  were  so  casual  in  old 
paintings.  It  was  always  going  to  rain  and  they  never 
cared.  And  there  were  always  great,  red-tasseled  curtains 
looped  to  pillars  that  apparently  soared  to  heaven,  for  the 
roofs  they  supported  were  never  seen.  And  there  were 
always  beneath  the  curtains,  on  lion-legged  tables,  globes 
and  classic  casts  and  unrolled  documents,  to  some  cryptic 
word  on  which  the  lady  or  gentleman  in  lace  and  satin 
pointed  a  long  forefinger  with  a  sly  smile.  Or  else  they 
played  with  little  thin  spaniels,  their  noses  pointed  one 
way,  their  eyes  looking  another.  But  whatever  they  did,  the 
thunder-storm  was  always  coming  to  spoil  the  red  curtains 
and  the  documents  and  the  satin  clothes — and  they  didn't 
care.  This  was  the  chief  reason  why  Neal  liked  old  por- 
traits, and  he  wondered  what  change  in  the  generations  had 
made  Aunt  Maria  dread  the  rain. 

Looking  at  his  ancestress,  he  thought  of  Ada,  who  seemed 
almost  as  non-committal.  In  his  mind  he  coolly  challenged 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  31 

the  modern  young  lady  to  stay  away  from  his  party,  which 
he  would  take  pains  to  make  a  ripping  one  with  games  and 
a  noble  supper. 

His  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  apparition  of 
Peter  with  a  squirming  puppy  tucked  under  one  arm.  Neal 
enthusiastically  bade  him  enter,  and  announced  his  intention 
of  giving  a  party. 

"  You're  asking  the  McCoys  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure !  I'm  inviting  your  cousin,  too.  If  she 
doesn't  want  to  come  she  can  stay  away." 

Peter  laughed. 

"  I'll  tell  her  that.  It  will  fetch  her.  She  does  anything 
she  likes  with  mother,"  he  added  confidentially.  "  Wish  I 
could ! " 

"  No  girl  could  do  anything  she  liked  with  me,"  Neal  said 
with  undue  emphasis. 

"  The  gods  will  have  vengeance  upon  you,"  said  a  voice  in 
the  background.  They  turned.  It  was  Uncle  Jack,  and  he 
had  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole — his  invariable  recognition 
of  the  eternal  feminine. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  Utopia  already  established  in  Patricia's  heart  was 
only  set  in  a  more  magical  light  by  the  prospect  of  attending 
Neal's  party.  Since  his  visit  she  had  thought  of  little  else 
than  the  proud  but  extraordinarily  gentle  boy  who  had 
bestowed  all  his  attention  upon  her  brother.  When  she  had 
received  his  note — her  first  real  note  of  invitation — her  heart 
fluttered  in  her  breast  as  if  it  had  been  a  bird  and  a  hand 
had  closed  over  it. 

"Do  you  think  they  ought  to  go,  James?"  Mrs.  McCoy 
asked  her  husband  that  night  in  open  family  council.  "  I 
mean,  of  course,  James  and  Patricia." 

"  Oh,  Mother !  "  wailed  the  rejected. 

"  Two  are  enough  from  one  family  at  any  party." 

"  By  that  calculation,"  the  Chick  said  pleasantly  to  his 
young  brothers  and  sisters,  "  most  of  you  will  get  to  a  party 
once  in  a  hundred  years." 

"  Mother !  Can  we  only  go  to  a  parry  once  in  a  hundred 
years  ?  "  arose  a  protesting  chorus. 

"  You'll  be  lucky  to  do  that,"  their  mother  replied.  "  I'm 
not  sure  even  Patricia  and  James  should  accept.  The  Car- 
michaels  are  hill-people.  When  Neal  gets  a  little  older,  he'll 
not  be  going  with  James." 

The  captain  of  the  Mary  McCoy  looked  proudly  around 
his  overflowing  table. 

"  Aren't  our  children  good  ?  Aren't  they  healthy  ? 
What's  the  matter  with  them  that  they  can't  play  with  the 
hill  children?" 

"  I  think  Neal  Carmichael  would  be  a  grand  friend  to 
anybody,"  Patricia  championed,  her  cheeks  glowing. 

Her  mother  looked  at  her  intently.  Patricia's  blossom- 
ing, her  dreamy  moods  these  days,  had  not  escaped  the 
maternal  observation. 

32 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  33 

"  We're  not  going  to  test  him.  But  you  can  go — this 
once." 

Patricia  was  already  planning  what  she  should  wear,  for 
she  must  find  favor  in  the  eyes  of  Neal  Carmichael,  whom 
she  had  resolved  to  hold  as  her  everlasting  friend.  Already 
she  was  looking  into  the  future,  picturing  herself  in  long 
dresses,  and  somewhere  on  the  Island  meeting  Neal,  accom- 
panied by  many  fair  ladies  of  his  own  set.  He  would  doff 
his  hat,  and  when  his  companions  asked  out  of  their  golden 
haze  of  gentility,  "  Who  is  she  ?  "  Neal  would  reply,  "  My 
good,  true  friend,  Patricia  McCoy." 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  party  she  stole  to  her  bedroom 
to  look  at  the  white  linen  dress  lying  in  its  freshness  across 
the  bed,  at  the  new,  crisp  hair  ribbons  and  the  lace-trimmed 
petticoat.  Dressing,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  was  an 
occult  ceremony. 

Then  suddenly  the  scene  shifted,  and  she  was  walking 
meekly  by  James's  side,  while  before  her  in  the  soft  Sep- 
tember light  the  pillared  house  rose,  its  porches,  to  her 
excited  fancy,  thronged  with  boys  and  girls. 

Neal,  spying  his  guests  from  afar,  came  running  to  meet 
them,  while  Patricia's  wild-rose  color  again  played  in  her 
cheeks  and  her  shining  eyes  proclaimed  her  joy  in  the 
occasion. 

The  presentation  to  the  other  guests  was  for  James  a 
simple  matter.  Not  one  Bradford  Academy  boy  but  re- 
garded him  as  a  hero,  who  had  forever  won  their  devotion 
by  his  acceptance  of  Neal;  but  Patricia  received  from  the 
little  girls  present  only  rather  aloof  glances,  though  Caecilia 
and  Maria,  being  hostesses  before  they  were  sectarians, 
made  her  cordially  welcome.  They  had  been  indeed  agree- 
ably surprised  by  Patricia's  appearance.  This  slender  little 
girl,  with  her  sweet  wide-open  eyes,  her  shy  but  not  nervous 
manner,  dressed  plainly  and  suitably,  might  have  come  from 
any  household  on  the  hill.  Philip,  to  whom  all  little  girls 
were  wonderful,  took  her  himself  into  the  library  to  shake 
hands  with  Judge  Carmichael. 

The  keen  eyes  of  the  old  gentleman  searched  her  face 


34  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

as  if  impatient  to  find  flaws  there.  He  was  sorry  she  was 
so  pretty,  and  after  inquiring  if  her  parents  were  well,  dis- 
missed her  abruptly. 

When  she  returned  to  the  porch  the  other  little  girls  did 
not  open  their  circle  and  take  her  in — they  were  all  clus- 
tered together  like  little  white  birds — so  she  sat  by  herself, 
wishing  that  her  host  would  reappear.  He  ran  up  breath- 
less at  last,  and,  hurrying  by  the  circle  of  the  elect,  came 
straight  to  her,  his  eyes  beaming. 

"Can  you  play  croquet,  Patricia?  We're  just  waiting 
until  Ada  Fleming  comes  to  begin.  Do  you  play  tennis? 
We're  going  to  do  outdoor  things  for  a  bit,  then  after 
supper  we'll  have  a  dance.  You  don't  play  tennis — and 
you  do  play  croquet — is  that  it?" 

"  Oh,  please  leave  me  out  and  let  me  look  on,"  she 
pleaded. 

"Why,  Patricia?" 

He  liked  to  say  her  name  and  to  feel  that  he  had  over 
her  the  gentle  authority  of  the  host.  When  she  opened  her 
gray  eyes  wide  as  if  she  were  startled,  he  thought  she 
looked  so  pretty,  but  not  so  pretty  as  Ada. 

"  James  thinks  he'd  rather  play  croquet  on  account  of 
his  wrist  being  hurt,"  Neal  went  on.  "  We'll  have  a  ripping 
match.  Some  of  them  are  for  archery.  That's  old- 
fashioned,  but  my  grandfather  likes  to  see  it  played.  They're 
setting  up  the  targets  now.  Would  you  care  to  try  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  practice  with  a  bow  and  arrow  once,"  Patricia 
admitted  as  she  rose  and  followed  Neal  out  upon  the  broad 
lawn. 

He  had  seen  the  impression  she  had  made  upon  the  older 
generation  and  felt  a  personal  pride  in  her  as  a  discovery 
all  his  own.  Ada  had  laid  the  authority  of  the  feminine 
world  upon  him,  had  made  him  feel  the  might  of  her  sex, 
but  for  the  first  part  of  the  afternoon  at  least  Patricia  was 
reaping  the  benefit.  Neal,  conducting  her  to  the  archery- 
ground,  where  by  this  time  most  of  the  little  girls  were 
assembled,  had  the  hope  that  she  would  distinguish  herself. 
Perceiving  her  timidity  he  did  not  put  her  forward  at  once, 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  35 

but  waited  until  some  wild,  and  random  shots  had  been 
made  before  placing  a  bow  and  arrow  in  her  hands. 

But  just  at  that  moment  Ada  appeared,  walking  very 
slowly  over  the  lawn  with  a  governess  to  whom  she  was 
talking  rapidly  in  French.  She  wore  a  short  dress  of  pink, 
simple  enough,  but  Parisian,  and  a  big  drooping  hat,  in 
the  shadow  of  which  her  impassive  face  looked  like  a  pearl. 

Neal  introduced  the  two  guests  of  honor. 

Patricia,  a  tremulous  Diana,  her  bow  and  arrow  drooping 
from  one  hand,  extended  the  other  to  this  small,  self- 
possessed  Venus  who,  ignoring  it,  merely  bowed,  while  her 
eyes  swept  Patricia  critically. 

"  Didn't  she  want  to  shake  hands  ?  "  said  a  hearty  voice 
over  Patricia's  shoulder  belonging  to  James  in  the  character 
of  protecting  brother. 

Patricia  turned  on  her  heel. 

"  I  don't  know  and  don't  care,"  she  said  with  sudden 
anger;  but  she  had  scarcely  spoken  the  words  before  she 
realized  what  a  bomb  she  had  cast  into  the  idyllic  peace 
of  the  occasion,  for  Neal  turned  pale,  Peter  laughed,  and 
her  own  brother  said  with  some  sternness :  "  Hold  your 
horses,  Pat.  Maybe  they  don't  shake  hands  up  this  way." 

Ada  smiled  softly,  the  expanding  of  a  rose  in  the  pearl 
of  her  face,  and  turned  to  James  McCoy. 

"  Please  let  me  shake  hands  with  you,"  she  said  with 
soft  flattery,  "  because  they  tell  me  you  are  a  wonderful 
pitcher.  I'll  shake  hands  with  your  sister,  too,  if  she'll  let 
me.  I  didn't  mean  to  be  rude,  but  I've  been  in  Europe  a 
long  time  and  don't  understand  American  ways." 

Her  voice  caressed  every  word  she  uttered.  Neal,  wish- 
ing that  Patricia,  whom  he  liked  so  much,  had  behaved 
better,  fell  under  the  spell  of  that  soft  apology  to  the 
extent  of  believing  that  Peter's  cousin  was  an  angel.  Pa- 
tricia, unhypnotized,  but  intensely  ashamed  of  herself,  held 
out  her  hand  at  once.  She  could  not  explain  that  Ada's 
act  had  been  the  last  straw  in  an  afternoon  of  feminine 
snubbings. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said.    Peter,  glancing  at  her  with  some 


36  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

distaste,  for  his  cousin  Ada  was  becoming  a  source  of  pride 
to  him,  thought  Neal  was  only  getting  what  he  deserved 
because  of  his  headstrongness  in  inviting  the  McCoys. 

"  We're  making  a  try  for  the  bull's-eye,"  Neal  said  to 
Ada.  "  Will  you  have  a  turn  ?  " 

Patricia,  the  untried  candidate,  stood  aside,  a  lump  in 
her  throat,  her  spirit  bowed  with  humility  because  she  had 
created  a  scene  for  her  host.  She  still  disliked  Ada,  but 
she  wanted  now  to  conceal  it,  to  recover  her  ground,  to 
make  Neal  believe  in  her  again,  like  her  again.  Oh,  if  he 
should  not  like  her  again,  she  felt  that  she  didn't  want  to 
live.  It  hurt  her  intensely  to  see  him  keep  his  face  turned 
away  from  her  as  if  he  were  embarrassed,  while  he  helped 
Ada  adjust  her  bow  and  arrow.  By  this  time  there  was 
a  large  circle  of  spectators.  Ada  gracefully  took  her  place, 
a  slim,  slightly  swaying  figure,  her  steady  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  bull's-eye.  She  released  the  arrow,  which  hit  the  outer 
circle. 

"  Now,  Patricia." 

Neal  looked  at  her  at  last  to  find  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 
All  the  latent  chivalry  and  kindness  of  his  nature  leaped 
to  the  fore.  He  had  wanted  her  to  have  such  a  good  time 
at  his  party — and  she  was  not  having  it ! 

"  Come,  Patricia,"  he  repeated. 

She  stepped  humbly  forward  at  his  word,  and  let  him 
put  the  bow  and  arrow  in  her  hands.  She  prayed  for 
success. 

"  Don't  get  rattled,  old  girl,"  came  the  cheerful  voice  of 
the  Chick,  which  gave  her  courage.  Stepping  into  position, 
she  took  careful  aim.  Her  arrow  found  the  third  circle 
from  the  bull's-eye — and  everybody  clapped. 

"  Great !  "  Neal  exclaimed.  "  You  and  Ada  are  cracker- 
jacks.  Now,  Ada,  see  if  you  can  do  better  than  that." 

Ada  took  her  place  again  with  a  quite  unchild-like  poise 
and  coolness,  secretly  resolving  to  distinguish  herself.  That 
Patricia  should  be  two  rings  nearer  the  ultimate  was  as 
unbearable  to  her  as  a  trailing  shoe-tie,  for  Ada  always 
regarded  other  people's  successes  as  her  own  defeats. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  37 

Neal  watched  her  intently,  scarcely  knowing  whether  he 
wished  her  to  win  or  not.  His  admiration  of  the  Chick 
inclined  him  to  back  Patricia,  but  Ada  was  gaining  over 
him  the  everlasting  victory  of  emotion — by  awakening  him 
to  girlhood.  Patricia  might  have  been  another  boy,  but  no 
one  could  see  boyish  traits  in  Ada,  an  embodied  feminine 
breath  from  far  lands. 

Jack  Carmichael,  who  had  spent  most  of  his  life  dealing 
with  her  adult  counterpart,  was  much  amused  by  her,  but 
rather  hoped  that  the  little  black-haired  Irish  girl  would 
win,  because  she  seemed  such  a  good  sport.  He  had  clapped 
Patricia's  first  effort,  had  been  secretly  glad  when  Ada  did 
not  surpass  it — and  now  awaited  Patricia's  next  arrow  with 
unusual  interest.  It  hit  the  bull's-eye  exactly  in  the  center. 
A  shout  of  applause  went  up,  and  Neal  came  forward  with 
a  prize — a  little  silver  bracelet. 

Patricia  floated  rather  than  walked  across  the  lawn  to 
the  croquet  ground;  but  her  sense  of  triumph  was  devoid 
of  personal  vanity.  That  she  had  pleased  and  justified  Neal 
was  the  source  of  her  exhilaration.  She  thought  that  now 
she  would  surely  be  welcomed  by  that  flock  of  little  girls 
who  seemed  to  keep  together  as  if  through  some  concerted 
plan,  but  dropping  into  line  with  them  she  found  the  at- 
mosphere no  warmer.  Ada,  indeed,  was  monopolizing  all 
their  attention,  for  she  was  again  chattering  in  French  to 
the  hovering  governess,  and  this  feat  in  itself  compelled 
interest.  Peter  was  walking  with  her.  He  had  spoken 
politely  enough  to  Patricia  when  she  first  arrived,  but  after 
that  he  took  no  further  notice  of  her.  This  hurt  her  be- 
cause he  was  Neat's  chum. 

Her  little  moment  of  triumph  was  short-lived,  and  she 
envied  her  brother  James  his  established  reputation.  All 
the  king's  horses  and  all  the  king's  men  couldn't  upset  the 
fact  that  he  was  the  champion  pitcher  of  the  countryside — 
and  how  calm  it  made  him!  James  was  really  enjoying 
himself ! 

At  this  juncture  Ada  detached  herself  from  her  gov- 
erness and  came  directly  to  Patricia. 


38  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  won  the  bracelet,"  she  said.  "  I  have 
so  many  of  them." 

"  Then  you  didn't  want  one  more — did  you  ?  "  Patricia 
said,  stoutly  resolving  this  time  to  keep  her  temper. 

"  Not  a  silver  one.     Most  of  mine  are  gold." 

Patricia  bore  this  communication  without  flinching,  for 
Ada  was  the  last  person  to  whom  she  could  say  that  the 
bracelet  was  gold  to  her — the  gold  of  glory.  She  gave  it 
a  gentle  twist  and  replied  : 

"  If  it  was  gold  my  mother  would  not  allow  me  to  wear 
it.  She  doesn't  think  it  good  taste  for  schoolgirls  to  wear 
jewelry." 

Ada  flushed,  then  smiled.  This  girl  had  brains  and  was 
using  them.  Secretly  she  found  Patricia  more  stimulating 
than  the  daughters  of  the  hill-dwellers,  but  she  resolved  to 
keep  her  a  stimulating  enemy,  for  even  at  twelve  Ada  knew 
that  enemies  often  contribute  more  than  friends  to  the  zest 
of  existence. 

"  Your  mother  must  be  a  very  sensible  person,"  she  said 
graciously,  "  and  know  things  by  instinct.  The  grande 
dames  of  Paris  think  exactly  the  same  way." 

Patricia  knit  her  brows.  Was  this  insulting,  or  wasn't 
it?  She  was  not  quite  sure,  and  her  moment  of  doubt 
became  the  savior  of  her  self-control,  since  she  who  hesitates 
is  more  generally  saved  than  lost. 

"  Mother  probably  learned  it  from  the  Irish  kings,  our 
ancestors,"  she  said,  "  or  maybe  the  family  Banshee  warned 
her." 

Ada  laughed.  She  was  genuinely  entertained  and  there- 
fore she  felt  good-humored,  but  she  resolved,  nevertheless, 
to  put  Patricia  in  her  place  and  keep  her  there. 

"  Delia,  Neal's  old  nurse,  was  telling  me  what  a  fine 
character  your  mother  has,"  she  observed  with  sympathetic 
interest.  "  She  said  she  had  been  a  friend  of  hers  for 
many  years." 

Patricia  shriveled,  attempted  to  reply,  but  found  no  words 
forcible  enough. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  39 

Neal,  watching  the  approach  of  the  two  girls  from  the 
croquet  ground,  turned  impulsively  to  Peter. 

"  I  think  your  cousin's  a  jolly  good  one,"  he  said  fervently. 
"  See  how  friendly  she  is  being  to  Patricia." 

"  Oh,  Ada's  not  stuck  up,"  Peter  replied  complacently. 

Patricia's  joy  in  the  party  was  dead.  No  friendliness  of 
Neal's,  no  politeness  on  the  part  of  Neat's  elders,  could  alter 
the  fact  that  a  friend  of  her  mother's  was  a  servant  in  that 
large,  pillared  house  that  rose  against  the  soft  September 
sky  as  the  visible  embodiment  of  aristocracy  and  long-con- 
tinued power.  The  truth  loomed  so  large  that  it  crowded 
out  even  resentment  of  Ada.  Patricia  dreaded  the  approach 
of  supper-time,  for,  undoubtedly,  Delia  would  be  assisting 
in  the  dining-room,  and  she  must  either  speak  to  her  as 
a  friend  or  be  a  coward. 

She  was  near  to  her  testing.  When  supper  was  an- 
nounced, Neal  had  deposited  her  conspicuously  at  the  head 
of  the  dining-room  and  plied  her  with  good  things,  but 
her  appetite  for  them  was  gone.  She  toyed  with  her  food, 
keeping  her  eyes  down,  because  she  had  seen  the  opening 
of  a  door  and  the  influx  of  a  small  army  of  servants,  among 
whom  she  recognized  Delia. 

Patricia  was  torn  with  conflicting  emotions.  The  stanch 
old  Irish  woman  had  been  very  kind  to  her  in  the  past,  and 
this  was  no  hour  to  forget  a  certain  shock-headed  doll 
most  dear,  most  beloved,  or  intermittent  showers  of  choco- 
late drops ;  yet  Patricia  felt  cowardice  weighing  her  eyelids 
down. 

All  social  differences  were  forgotten  by  the  other  children 
in  the  broad  human  interest  of  sandwiches,  but  Patricia's 
tasted  dry  in  her  mouth.  The  spirit  was  willing,  the  flesh 
weak.  When  Delia  came  with  her  tray  of  lemonade,  Patri- 
cia took  her  glass  without  looking  up,  and  the  old  servant 
with  Celtic  tact  remained  silent,  yet  she  was  disappointed 
over  those  downcast  eyes.  Just  a  smile  would  have  sufficed. 

The  moment  was  over,  and  the  defeated  one  was  now 
knowing  shame.  Raising  her  eyes  she  saw  that  Ada,  seated 
near  by,  was  regarding  her  with  an  amused  expression. 


40  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Patricia  flashed  an  acceptance  of  the  challenge  back  to  her, 
then  rising,  followed  Delia's  retreating  form.  Feeling  a 
pressure  on  her  arm,  that  honest  servant  turned  to  see  eyes 
as  warm  as  her  own  gazing  into  hers. 

"  Delia,  Mother  sends  love,  and  says  it's  a  long  time  since 
you've  been  to  supper.'' 

Patricia  returned  to  her  seat  with  the  light-heartedness  of 
the  shriven.  The  act  had  been  to  her  like  blood-letting, 
and  the  fever  of  her  anxiety  passed  as  if  the  premature 
disease  of  adult  sufferings  through  adult  standards  was  over, 
and  she  was  back  in  the  peace  of  childhood. 

But  when  she  went  into  the  drawing-room  to  dance  a 
new  awe  fell  upon  her,  this  time  not  of  people,  but  of  the 
history  back  of  them.  This  grave,  mellow  room  with  its 
dignity  of  a  bygone  century,  its  aloof  beauty,  was  like  an 
introduction,  not  to  the  living,  but  to  the  aristocratic  dead. 

The  music  began,  and  on  the  first  strains  her  feet  found 
the  path  to  fairy-land.  She  was  a  good  dancer,  as  the  boys 
soon  learned,  but  she  cared  only  for  her  dances  with  Neal. 

"  Are  you  having  a  good  time  ? "  he  whispered  to  her 
as  they  circled  the  room. 

She  smiled  mutely.  She  would  never  be  able  to  tell  him 
what  was  in  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  fate  of  socialism — as  far  as  it  depended  upon 
feminine  assent — hung  in  the  balance  after  the  party,  for 
Neal  and  Peter  were  indulging  in  reactionary  masculine  ex- 
ploits of  the  kind  prohibited  to  petticoats,  such  as  climbing 
the  scaffolding  of  the  gardener's  new  house,  visiting  the 
stables  to  inspect  a  litter  of  collie  pups,  and  practicing  base- 
ball for  a  coming  game.  In  the  house  by  the  shore  Patricia 
went  about  her  tasks  dreamily.  Having  been  admitted  to 
participation  with  aristocracy,  she  now  passionately  desired 
to  fit  herself  for  permanent  occupation  of  that  bright  sphere. 
She  began  to  be  very  particular  with  her  English,  with  her 
hair,  with  her  walk,  copying  unconsciously  Ada's  graceful, 
deliberate  gait.  But  since  our  imitations  are,  as  a  rule,  for 
the  benefit  of  one  person,  Patricia  found  herself  in  imagina- 
tion rehearsing  always  before  Neal. 

One  afternoon  she  was  seated  rather  primly  on  the  porch 
with  a  bit  of  embroidery  in  her  hands,  when  the  click  of 
the  gate  brought  her  out  of  her  dreams  to  reality.  Her 
brother  James,  attended  by  Neal  and  Peter,  summoned  her 
to  join  them,  which  she  did  with  an  alacrity  born  of  the 
consciousness  that  she  looked  well. 

Neal  and  Peter  said  "  Hello  "  simultaneously,  but  with  a 
kind  of  impersonal  expectation  as  if  Patricia  were  but  a 
necessary  link  in  some  projected  enterprise. 

"  We  want  you,"  James  announced,  "  to  come  with  us 
to  see  Uncle  Shamus." 

"  Uncle  Shamus ! "  Patricia  faltered  with  rising  color. 
Why,  oh,  why  should  the  purblind  James  wish  to  conduct 
Neal  and  Peter  to  this  irreverent  old  sailor-uncle  in  the 
Mariner's  Rest — who  always  smelled  slightly  of  rum  and 
smoked  a  pipe? 

"  We  want  you  along  because  Uncle  Shamus  always  tells 

41 


42  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

finer  tales  when  you  are  around,"  James  explained,  "  and 
Neal  and  Peter  want  to  hear  some  thrilling  tales  of  the 
sea." 

"  Oh,  please !  "  Neal  entreated. 

His  eyes  were  winning,  and  she  surrendered,  though  she 
dreaded  the  visit.  James,  of  course,  couldn't  understand  her 
longing  to  rise  into  the  bright,  fortunate,  dominant  life  of 
these  hill-dwellers.  Before  her  wistful  eyes,  covetous  of 
aristocratic  virtues  and  privileges,  rose  the  fierce  old  figure 
of  Uncle  Shamus,  as  unpliable  to  the  demands  of  fashionable 
society  as  the  battered  figurehead  of  some  ancient  sailing 
vessel. 

"  You  won't  like  Uncle  Shamus,"  she  addressed  Neal 
frankly.  "  He's  rough." 

"  Oh,  they  all  are  down  there,"  Peter  put  in  good- 
humoredly.  "  We  don't  expect  Chesterfields  in  a  Mariner's 
Rest.  They're  sea-seasoned,  those  old  chaps.  I  love  to  hear 
'em  swear  and  yarn.  I'm  dying  to  hear  a  good  yarn.  Aren't 
you,  Neal  ?  " 

"  Would  you  mind  very  much  ?  "  Neal  questioned. 

"  I'll  go,"  she  answered  with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice. 
She  would  do  this  for  her  hero,  sit  through  the  hour  of 
real  torture  it  would  be  to  her  to  have  her  uncle  on  parade, 
— no  Chesterfield,  indeed,  but  something  cast  up,  worn  and 
battered  by  the  sea,  belonging  wholly  to  the  class  Patricia 
was  now,  not  without  shame,  disowning. 

"  That's  a  good  Sis,"  James  commented.  "  You  must 
coax  Uncle  Shamus  to  show  Neal  and  Peter  the  ruby  the 
cannibal  queen  gave  him." 

The  Mariner's  Rest  was  a  group  of  ancient  ivy-covered 
buildings  surrounded  by  lawns  sloping  down  to  the  placid 
channel  that  separated  the  Island  on  its  western  side  from 
the  mainland.  Under  the  great  trees  now  dropping  their 
leaves,  many  old  men  were  seated,  or  they  strolled  together, 
or  stood  alone  in  meditation  as  they  watched  the  boats  in 
the  channel,  with  heaven  knows  what  thoughts  of  old  sea- 
days.  Something  autumnal  was  all  about  the  place,  not 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  43 

wholly  the  effect  of  the  misty  October  sunshine  and  the 
low  October  wind.  It  was  as  if  the  hoarse  voices  of  these 
old  men  came  from  very  far  off  with  a  strange  tale  in  a 
strange  tongue.  The  place  reeked  with  the  sea,  yet  only 
the  odor  of  dead  leaves  and  mignonette,  from  many  beds 
of  that  flower,  came  physically  to  the  senses.  Neal,  at  least, 
never  passed  under  the  arched  gateway  with  its  invocation 
to  the  god  of  many  waters  without  tasting  brine  and  hearing 
a  spectral  wind  whistle  through  unseen  shrouds. 

Learning  that  Uncle  Shamus,  troubled  by  rheumatism, 
was  by  his  fire,  they  started  up  the  avenue,  when  a  soft 
voice  called,  "  Peter." 

All  turning,  they  saw  Ada  descending  from  a  carriage 
in  which  sat  Mrs.  Fleming  and  another  person  who,  Peter 
explained  briefly  to  Neal,  was  a  visiting  uncle  of  Ada's. 
The  carriage  drove  on,  while  Ada  approached  them  with 
her  usual  languid  walk.  Patricia,  feeling  that  fate  could 
scarcely  be  more  unkind,  looked  about  for  some  unseen 
road  of  escape,  then  the  courage  of  the  desperate  returned 
to  her.  She  faced  Ada  with  a  smile,  and  awaited  the  pro- 
nouncement that  young  lady  was  about  to  make. 

"  I  was  terribly  bored/'  she  addressed  Neal,  "  so  when 
I  saw  you  I  called  to  the  coachman  to  stop.  I  think  Uncle 
Whitney  wanted  a  word  alone  with  Aunt  Bertha,  anyway, 
so  it's  just  as  well.  How  do  you  do,  Patricia,  and  where 
are  you  all  going  ?  " 

"  To  see  my  uncle,"  Patricia  answered  quickly  before 
cowardice  could  close  her  lips. 

"  Your  uncle  ?    Is  he  a  director  here  ?  " 

"  No,  he's  a  pensioner — an  old  sailor." 

Neal,  watching  Ada  anxiously,  saw,  to  his  relief,  only  a 
mild  interest  in  her  calm,  pretty  face.  Divining  why 
Patricia  wasn't  happy,  he  wished  that  Ada  hadn't  joined 
the  party;  yet,  as  usual,  she  drew  all  his  thoughts  to  her, 
turning  them  by  some  alchemy  into  mature,  unboyish  specu- 
lations as  to  what  she  really  was — a  nuisance  or  a  singular 
joy.  He  wished  she  would  not  use  French  words.  She  was 
too  nice  for  such  airs. 


44  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

They  found  Uncle  Shamus  brooding  over  the  fire,  his  one 
good  eye  as  bright  as  a  burning  coal  itself,  his  wooden  leg 
crossed  in  stiff  peace  over  his  knee,  his  pipe  as  firmly 
wedged  in  his  mouth  as  if  that  aperture  had  been  forced 
open  to  receive  it.  The  room,  which  smelled  of  fish,  pepper- 
mint, liniment  and  old  leather,  had  somehow  the  effect 
of  a  pirate's  cave,  an  aspect  so  convincing  that  Neal's  de- 
light was  instantaneous.  He  surrendered  to  the  whole 
before  he  took  account  of  details — of  the  stuffed  tuna  in 
glazed  supremacy  above  the  fireplace ;  of  the  great  taran- 
tulas, in  hairy  suspension  amid  tropical  butterflies  that 
quivered  curiously  on  wires  as  if  alive;  of  the  misshapen 
clubs,  odd  paddles,  Samoan  bowls  and  fans ;  of  the  Chinese 
ornaments;  of  the  outlandish  beads  and  feathers;  of  the 
whole  queer  stock  of  sailor's  trophies,  making  a  brown 
twilight,  lit  only  by  a  pale  bone  or  a  scarlet  butterfly. 

"  Uncle  Shamus,  I've  brought  some  friends  of  mine  to 
see  you,"  James  announced. 

The  old  man  drew  out  his  pipe  and  laid  it  gravely  on 
the  mantel  before  extending  his  hand  to  Ada. 

"Who's  the  lass?" 

They  explained  her — and  the  others  were  introduced  in 
their  turn. 

"  We've  come  for  a  tale,  Uncle  Shamus,"  James  said 
coaxingly.  "  A  ripper — Neal  here  is  partial  to  devil-fish." 

"  He  wouldn't  be — if  he'd  ever  met  one." 

"  Did  you  ever  meet  one  ?  "  Neal  challenged. 

"  It  war  off  Sark,"  Shamus  admitted  modestly. 

"  Oh,  tell  us  about  it." 

Shamus  surveyed  the  company  and  wagged  his  head  in 
Ada's  direction. 

"You  wouldn't  believe  it  now,  would  you,  Miss?" 

Ada,  perched  gingerly  on  a  sea-chest,  responded : 

"  All  sailors  tell  tales." 

This  atmosphere  of  skepticism  was  felt  as  a  chill  by  the 
company.  Ada's  singular  faculty  of  taking  the  glamour  out 
of  things  while  yet  throwing  a  glamour  about  her  own 
little  person — this  talent  was  already  drawing  Neal  out  of 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  45 

boyhood  with  its  piratical  instincts  and  ready  faith  in 
marvels.  He  began  to  feel  that  the  whole  expedition  was 
stupid  and  James's  uncle  a  tobacco-flavored  bore.  His 
finger  nails  were  outrageously  dirty,  and  his  devil-fish  were 
probably  the  invention  of  gin.  Patricia  looked  steadily  out 
the  window,  her  cheeks  burning.  Only  James  remained 
expectant. 

"  Never  mind  Ada,  Uncle  Shamus,"  he  said,  with  flaunt- 
ing democracy.  "  Girls  never  really  believe  anything.  Spin 
your  yarn." 

Uncle  Shamus's  eye  brightened. 

"  I  had  shipped  with  the  Flyin'  Mercury,"  he  began.  "  A 
cattle  boat  she  was.  We  put  in  at  Guernsey  to  buy  a  full- 
bred  cow  for  the  Captain's  missus  in  Portland.  We  had 
one  passenger — he  war  a  Rosicrucian." 

Neal  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"A— what,  Mr.  O'Brien?" 

"  A  Rosicrucian." 

"  What's  that,  Uncle  Shamus?  "  Patricia  asked. 

"  Them  that  is  one — knows.  Them  that  ain't  one — 
guesses." 

"  What  was  he  like  ?  "  Peter  inquired. 

"  Shure,  he  had  honey  on  his  lips — an'  lightning  in  his 
eyes.  We  run  into  a  storm  midways  over,  an'  he  was 
asleep  in  the  cabin,  the  only  soul  who  could  sleep.  The 
Flyin'  Mercury  was  flyin'  to  her  doom  that  night — and  the 
pack  of  us  prayin'  an'  swearin'  an'  rememberin'  those  on 
shore.  Nigh  to  what  seemed  the  end,  he  appeared  all  of  a 
sudden  an'  looked  out  on  that  hell  of  water  with  the  smile 
that  only  a  few  of  us  ever  saw  on  his  lips.  Then  he  sung 
out: 

"  '  The  Flyin'  Mercury  will  reach  her  harbor — look ! ' 

"  Every  mother's  son  of  us  looked,  an',  by  the  green 
fields  of  Ireland,  there,  straight  ahead,  was  a  hoop  of  light, 
an'  before  we  could  say  Holy  Virgin  the  ship  rose  on  a 
wave  and  straight  through  the  hoop  she  went — an'  was  in 
calm  water  on  the  other  side.  The  wind  went  down,  an* 
the  stars  came  out,  an'  the  Rosicrucian  went  back  to  his 


46  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

bunk.  He  left  us  at  Portsmouth,  for  he  was  farin'  on  to 
the  East  to  join  some  gentry  he  called  Masters  in  the 
Himalayas.  But  I'm  wanderin'  from  me  subject.  You 
were  after  askin'  me  about  devil-fish." 

"  Let's  be  a  secret  society — and  call  ourselves  the  Rosi- 
crucians  and  seek  adventures !  "  Neal  said.  He  was  suf- 
fering a  relapse  into  boyhood,  but  his  eyes  were  eagerly 
on  Ada's  face.  That  young  lady  had  scarcely  heard  the 
remarkable  narrative  of  Uncle  Shamus,  so  intent  was  she 
on  her  own  thoughts,  which  concerned  Patricia.  Should 
she  ignore  her  in  future,  relying  on  her  own  power  to  keep 
Peter  and  Neal  from  these  undesirable  playmates,  or  should 
she  accept  her  for  the  sake  of  whatever  fun  was  going? 
A  larger  percentage  of  entertainment  seeming  assured  by  the 
latter  alternative,  she  received  Neal's  proposition  amiably. 

"  It's  a  silly  name,"  she  said,  "  but  there's  no  use  staying 
out  of  things  because  you  don't  like  their  names." 

"  It  isn't  as  silly  as  you  think,"  James  gave  back.  "  I 
looked  it  up  once  in  the  encyclopedia,  and  it's  a  very  old 
secret  society  and  only  the  elect  get  into  it." 

"  We're  the  elect,"  said  Peter. 

Shamus  turned  a  terrible  eye  on  him. 

"  Ye'll  make  damned  pore  Rosicrucians,  all  of  ye — except 
that  lad,"  he  added,  pointing  a  gnarled  forefinger  at  Neal, 
"  an'  that  lass,"  pointing  to  Patricia. 

"  Uncle,  please  don't  swear,"  Patricia  begged  softly.  She 
was  growing  happier  as  her  sense  of  exclusion  from  Neal's 
circle  was  becoming  fainter.  That  Ada  should  consent  to 
be  a  member  of  a  society  which  included  her,  Patricia, 
seemed  a  forecast  of  the  fulfillment  of  her  ambitions.  Hence- 
forth a  mystic  bond  united  them  all,  one  not  dependent  upon 
social  standards.  What  adventures  as  a  society  they  were 
to  expect,  and  how  often  as  a  society  they  were  to  meet 
and  conspire,  she  left  to  Neal's  ingenuity. 

"  Show  us  the  ruby  the  cannibal  queen  gave  you,  Uncle 
Shamus,"  James  commanded. 

Uncle  Shamus,  fumbling  at  the  neck  of  his  flannel  shirt, 
drew  out  at  last  a  string  of  green  beads,  attached  to  which 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  47 

was  a  kind  of  leather  scapular.  From  its  oily  rotundity 
he  produced  a  large  red  stone. 

Ada  held  out  her  hand.  "  Let  me  see,"  she  said  eagerly, 
for  she  had  a  passion  for  jewels. 

She  carried  the  stone  to  the  light.  Patricia,  her  heart 
thumping,  watched  her  anxiously.  She  had  always  believed 
in  this  ruby  which  Uncle  Shamus  had  assured  her  would 
be  hers  at  his  death,  and  which  had  symbolized  to  her 
barbaric  wealth  as  well  as  mystery  and  adventure.  She 
had  thought  that  if  anything  ever  happened  to  the  Mary 
McCoy — if  the  tug  should  burn  up  or  be  in  a  collision — 
there  would  be  Uncle  Shamus's  ruby  to  fall  back  upon. 
Now  a  fearful  doubt  assailed  her. 

Ada  turned  the  stone  in  the  palm  of  her  hand  for  a  while, 
then  gave  it  back  to  its  owner  with  a  smile. 

"  What  about  it  ?  "  James  said  sharply.  As  far  as  he 
thought  about  her  at  all,  he  resented  Ada.  "  Wouldn't  you 
like  to  own  it  ?  " 

"  If  it  were  real.    It  isn't." 

At  this  amazing  verdict,  Uncle  Shamus  reached  for  his 
pipe  and  lit  it.  Then,  as  if  it  gave  him  courage,  he  ful- 
minated : 

"  A  queen's  word  against  yours,  me  haughty  lass.  The 
gem's  for  me  niece  when  I'm  gone." 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Ada,"  Peter  protested,  "  don't  be  so  cock- 
sure it  isn't  a  ruby." 

"  Thinking  it  one  won't  make  it  so." 

"  Put  it  up,  Uncle,"  Patricia  said  impatiently. 

"  I'll  believe  it's  a  ruby  until  it's  proved  otherwise,"  Neal 
announced. 

The  old  man  returned  his  treasure  to  its  leather  bag 
without  a  word.  An  embarrassing  silence  fell  upon  the 
little  company,  broken  at  last  by  a  knock  at  the  door.  Ada's 
uncle  entered.  He  was  a  young  man,  fashionably  dressed 
and  with  a  manner  not  unlike  Ada's — bored  yet  amiable. 

The  two  uncles  were  introduced.  Whitney  Birrell  shook 
hands  with  Shamus  O'Brien,  but  had  evidently  no  desire 
to  linger. 


48  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  The  carriage  is  waiting,  Ada.  I  am  empowered  to 
bring  you,  too,  Peter — and  Neal  is  asked  to  dinner.  One 
of  you  boys  can  sit  beside  the  coachman." 

Ada  rose  with  alacrity.  Patricia,  a  lump  in  her  throat, 
said  half  under  her  breath  to  Neal : 

"  But  you  haven't  heard  about  the  devil-fish." 

He  hesitated.  Secretly  he  desired  to  stay  in  this  mys- 
terious room  which  he  had  only  half  examined,  to  see  it 
with  Ada's  skeptical  presence  removed.  At  the  same  time 
he  desired  to  go  with  Ada,  to  watch  her  play  fine  lady  with 
her  admiring  relatives. 

Ada  herself  settled  the  question.  "  Peter  can  sit  on  the 
box ;  Neal  can  ride  with  me." 

"  I'll  see  you  soon,  Patricia,"  Neal  said. 

"  Come  on,  Pat ;  we'll  walk  home,"  James  announced 
bluntly.  "  Ball  practice  to-morrow,  Neal ;  don't  forget." 

He  swung  off  with  the  enviable  manner  he  had  towards 
these  aristocrats — of  not  feeling  the  gulf  between  him  and 
them,  or  else  not  caring.  The  others  followed,  all  except 
Patricia,  who  preferred  to  remain  in  the  desolation  suddenly 
created  for  her.  That  the  ruby  was  not  real  was  only  a 
symbol  of  some  other  things  that  were  not  real — Neal's 
friendship  and  the  newly  founded  society  of  the  Rosi- 
crucians,  powerless  to  cement  five  hearts  in  a  true  union. 
Baseball  could  do  that,  but  not  Neal's  transient  enthusiasm. 
Patricia  suddenly  felt  scorn  of  his  self-deceptions.  He 
liked  Ada  and  Ada's  world.  Why  pretend  to  include  her, 
Patricia  ? 

"  I  won't  see  him  again.  I  sha'n't  see  him  again,"  she 
said  passionately  to  herself.  "  I — I  hate  him." 

The  door  having  closed  on  the  departing  ones,  Patricia 
drew  a  footstool  before  the  fire  and  seated  herself,  rest- 
ing her  chin  on  her  hands.  Uncle  Shamus  smoked  in 
silence,  now  and  then  turning  his  eyes  on  her  with  some 
concern. 

"  What's  wrong,  me  jewel  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  Nothing." 

"  Lave   such   lies   to   foine   ladies — as  her   who's   gone. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  49 

You're  a  colleen  the  truth  comes  aisy  to.  Is  it  the  ruby 
you're  doubtin'  ?  " 

"  No,  Uncle." 

"  Your  foine  friends  didn't  bespeak  you  for  dinner,  I 
noticed.  Give  'em  the  go-by,  lass." 

She  swallowed  her  tears,  staring  at  the  fire,  and  made  no 
answer. 

"  How's  young  Tom  Murphy  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  seen  him." 

"  There's  a  foine  lad." 

She  made  no  answer. 

Uncle  Shamus  sighed  helplessly.  Patricia  down-hearted 
was  for  him  a  novel  and  disconcerting  spectacle.  He  put 
down  his  pipe  at  last. 

"  Learn  a  lesson  from  their  rudeness  to  you,  an'  keep 
with  your  own  kind.  You  an'  me'll  play  we're  Rosi- 
crucians,  an'  some  day  I'll  tell  ye  some  secrets  that  pas- 
senger on  the  Flyin'  Mercury  told  me.  Them  that  goes 
'round  the  world  a  dozen  times  gets  to  know  things — know 
things." 

His  voice  had  sunk  to  a  whisper.  His  eyes  glowed,  his 
lips  moved  as  if  tasting  some  rich  reminiscence. 

A  sudden  distaste  filled  Patricia  of  the  unwashed  old  man 
beside  her,  of  the  pensioner's  shelter,  of  the  ignorant  mind 
prating  of  half-understood  things. 

She  rose  abruptly. 

"  I'm  going,  Uncle." 

"  Good-by,  me  lass.  An'  mind  what  I  tell  ye — keep  with 
your  own  kind." 

The  belated  Rosicrucian  made  her  way  home,  tearing 
her  soul  to  tatters  as  she  went.  At  the  foot  of  the  last 
hill  she  paused.  To  climb  it  and  go  through  the  plantation 
back  of  the  Carmichael  house  was  entirely  unnecessary, 
but  her  feet  inevitably  took  the  road.  Once  in  the  planta- 
tion she  could  give  way  to  her  tears.  Feeling  frankly  misera- 
ble, she  sat  down  beneath  one  of  the  pine  trees  and  hid 
her  head  in  her  knees.  Uncle  Shamus  was  right.  Only 
heartaches  could  come  of  this  association  with  hill-people. 


50  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

James  felt  as  good  as  they,  or,  better  yet,  he  felt  nothing  at 
all.  Patricia,  cursed  with  a  consciousness  of  social  differ- 
ence, lashed  herself  up  a  lonely  road. 

In  imagination  she  was  bowing  distantly  to  a  member 
of  the  society  from  which  she  was  self-exiled,  when  a 
voice  behind  her  called :  "  Patricia !  " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  Neal  was  looking  at  her,  peni- 
tently she  thought,  at  least  uneasily. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  stopped  to  rest." 

"  You've  been  crying,"  he  said  boldly. 

"  I  thought  you  were  at  the  Flemings',"  she  stammered, 
ignoring  the  charge. 

"  I'm  going  back  there.  I  had  to  run  over  a  minute  to 
see  Grandfather.  I'm  coming  down  to-morrow  to  see  what 
we  can  do  to  be  a  real  society,  and  Ada  and  Peter  are 
coming  with  me — if  you'll  be  home." 

She  hesitated,  then  melted.  "  I'll  be  home.  We'll— we'll 
make  some  butter-scotch,"  she  added,  joy  beginning  to  trem- 
ble in  her  voice. 

"  Patricia — what  were  you  crying  for  ?  " 

She  looked  dumbly  at  him — suddenly  desirous  of  nothing 
but  an  eternal  playtime  with  him.  She  trembled  to  think 
how  near  she  had  been  to  severing  permanently  her  con- 
nection with  the  blessed  society  of  the  Rosicrucians. 

"  Do  you  like  butter-scotch  ? "  she  asked  with  a  desperate 
smile,  to  turn  his  mind  from  her  tears. 

"  Rather !  "  he  exclaimed. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MRS.  FLEMING,  suddenly  presented  with  a  niece  of  Ada's 
calm  and  self-possession,  had  not  altogether  relished  the 
task  of  overseeing  an  infant  whose  views  on  life  were  much 
more  decided  than  her  own. 

"  Ada  will  marry  whom  she  pleases,  I  imagine,"  she  was 
saying  to  Whitney  Birrell,  who,  in  the  half-hour  before 
dinner  was  discussing  his  niece's  future.  "  You  were  asking 
about  Neal  Carmichael.  I  can  answer  for  his  romantic 
disposition.  Peter  worships  him.  It's  amusing  enough  to 
pair  children  off,  but  nothing  ever  comes  of  it.  I  could 
bestow  Peter  upon  little  Polly  Guthrie — she's  an  adorable 
baby  of  seven — but  when  he  gets  old  enough,  he'll  probably 
pick  out  a  girl  I've  never  heard  of  and  can't  like,  but  then 
I  don't  expect  to  like  my  son's  wife." 

"  No,  it  isn't  in  nature,"  Birrell  said  sympathetically. 

"  Of  course  it  isn't  in  nature.  You  bring  a  boy  into 
the  world ;  you  pour  your  life  into  his ;  you  watch,  you 
pray — that  is,  if  you're  the  praying  kind;  you  keep  it  up 
year  in  and  year  out;  then,  suddenly,  you  realize  that 
strange  women  have  seized  upon  him,  women  who  demand, 
not  give — the  girl,  the  girl's  mother,  the  girl's  aunts  and 
cousins.  Your  wonderful  product  is  handed  over  to  them 
to  be  criticised  and  used.  Is  he  good  to  the  girl?  Is  he 
making  ten  thousand  a  year  for  the  girl?  Naturally  his 
one  and  only  mother  feels  left  out." 

"  Peter,  you  must  make  a  vow  never  to  marry."  This 
from  Whitney  Birrell  to  Peter  who  had  just  entered  the 
room  with  Neal  and  Ada.  "  Your  lady-mother  says  she 
isn't  going  to  like  your  wife." 

"  Mother,  I  don't  intend  to  have  one,"  Peter  declared  to 
the  accompaniment  of  a  warm  kiss  on  his  mother's  cheek. 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,  Peter,"  Ada  said  sweetly.  "Of 

51 


52  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

course  you  will  marry.  Everybody  does  who  isn't  eccentric." 
Then  she  added,  dropping  her  lashes,  "  Neal  intends  to 
marry,  I'm  sure." 

Neal  colored,  half  vexed,  half  flattered,  at  the  personal 
allusion.  But  he  found  himself  tongue-tied.  He  realized 
that  he  was  singularly  lacking  in  views  upon  this  ancient 
institution.  Yet  it  would  be  nice  to  marry  Ada,  and  order 
her  around,  and  touch  her  curls.  But  Patricia  would  be 
better  fun  for  long  walks,  and  scrambles  through  the  woods. 

He  was  considering  their  respective  merits,  not  as  candi- 
dates for  marriage,  but  for  the  exigencies  of  a  newly  formed 
society  as  he  went  home  that  evening.  They  would  inau- 
gurate it  with  a  butter-scotch  party,  but  later  meetings  must 
hold  mystery  and  adventure  or  the  object  of  the  association 
would  not  be  gained. 

As  he  passed  through  the  gateway  of  the  lodge,  the  lodge- 
keeper's  wife  opened  her  door  to  usher  someone  out  and  he 
recognized  Meg  Barrows,  the  gardener's  daughter,  who 
seemed  equipped  for  a  journey.  Her  face  was  pale,  defiant 
and  sullen.  Jerking  a  nod  of  recognition  towards  Neal  and 
bidding  the  keeper's  wife  a  hoarse  good-by,  she  walked 
rapidly  through  the  gates  and  down  the  road. 

Neal,  on  entering  the  house,  was  conscious  of  a  tension 
in  the  atmosphere — something  thunderous  and  threatening. 
Csecilia  and  Maria,  both  in  lugubrious  black  evening  gowns, 
were  in  the  drawing-room,  their  chairs  drawn  close  together, 
a  sure  because  a  rare  sign  of  some  topic  of  great  interest 
to  them  both.  As  a  rule,  between  the  shrinking  spinster 
and  the  dominant  matron  with  her  passion  of  maternity 
there  was  little  real  sympathy.  At  sight  of  Neal  they 
stopped  talking  abruptly,  but  Philip  entering  the  room  at  this 
moment  they  inquired  in  a  breath,  "  Is  it  arranged  ?  " 

"  Money  will  arrange  anything,"  Philip  replied  coldly. 
"  The  girl  may  be  lying,  of  course.  She  has  been  in  scrapes 
before,  and  her  own  father  is  inclined  to  disbelieve  her." 
Then,  catching  sight  of  Neal,  he  added  hastily,  "  Your 
grandfather  wishes  to  see  you  in  the  library." 

Neal  hesitated.    "  Go  at  once,"  Philip  commanded. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  53 

Neal  found  his  grandfather  nursing  a  rheumatic  leg 
before  the  library  fire,  and  evidently  ill  at  ease.  His  face 
was  flushed,  his  lips  set  in  a  hard,  straight  line  that  did 
not  relax  when  Neal  appeared ;  nor  did  he  greet  his  grand- 
son, who  felt  at  once  that  this  stern  attitude  had  connection 
with  Caecilia's  and  Maria's  whispered  conversation.  Neal 
awaited  in  some  trepidation  the  pronouncement  which  came 
at  last  like  a  bolt  from  the  cloud. 

"  I  sent  for  you  to  tell  you  that  you  are  to  resign  from 
the  baseball  team  you've  lately  joined." 

Neal  was  too  stunned  to  reply.  Resign  from  the  Ter- 
riers !  His  grandfather  could  never  ask  such  a  thing  if  he 
realized  what  the  climb  to  that  Olympus  had  cost  Neal. 
The  boy  felt  a  tightening  in  his  throat,  a  burning  sensation 
in  his  eyes,  while  his  grandfather's  figure  wavered  and  grew 
hazy.  He  opened  his  lips,  but  the  lump  in  his  throat  made 
speech  impossible. 

"  And,  furthermore,  you  are  not  to  go  to  the  McCoys' 
again." 

Neal  began  to  tremble,  but  not  so  much  from  anger 
as  from  sheer  tottering  amazement — a  sense  of  a  universe 
collapsing  and  amid  the  clouds  of  chaos,  including  such  de- 
tached objects  as  Patricia's  face,  the  spider-haunted  room 
of  her  sailor-uncle,  James  McCoy's  brawny  muscles,  and 
a  swaying  lilac  bush  by  an  old  gate. 

"  You  understand  me  ?  "  the  stern  old  soldier  said  as  Neal 
remained  silent. 

"  I  don't  understand,  and  I  can't  promise  to  obey." 

It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  had  ever  defied 
his  grandfather,  and  the  act  made  him  a  stranger  to  himself. 
The  boy  Neal  Carmichael  receded  to  an  interminable  dis- 
tance, while  close  beside  him  stood  an  unfamiliar  being,  hard, 
mature,  defiant. 

"Why  not?" 

"  You  must  tell  me  why  first.  You've  given  me  no 
reasons." 

His  grandfather  looked  amazed.  Then  he  answered  tes- 
tily :  "  Because  no  good  ever  comes  of  mingling  with  people 


54  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

out  of  your  own  class.  You  can't  know  James  McCoy  and 
his  sister — when  you  grow  older." 

"  When  I  grow  older  I  shall  know  whom  I  please,  Grand- 
father," Neal  answered  in  an  uncertain  voice. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  obey  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  your  reasons  are  good,"  Neal  gave  back, 
"  and  I  don't  understand  your  change  of  mind.  Only  two 
weeks  ago  you  wanted  Graham's  sons  to  play  with  me." 

"  Yes — and  he  had  no  sons.  Daughters  are  a  different 
matter,"  the  old  man  commented  grimly.  "  Have  I  your 
promise,  Neal?" 

"I  told  you  I  wouldn't  smoke  until  I  had  my  growth — 
and  I  can  keep  such  promises  because  they  concern  only 
myself;  but  this  is  a  different  matter,  Grandfather.  These 
people  are  my  friends." 

Old  Carmichael  turned  away  his  head  a  moment,  smoth- 
ering a  desire  to  draw  the  boy  to  him,  to  crush  him  against 
his  breast — and  then  to  give  him  his  liberty,  allowing  him  to 
walk  by  the  light  that  burned  in  his  clear  eyes.  But  he  knew 
that  idealism  has  its  own  pitfalls.  Since  the  death  of  Neal's 
father  had  left  him  with  two  sons  not  after  his  own  heart, 
his  passion  had  been  to  make  his  grandson  into  a  desired 
image.  The  boy's  resistance  to  his  will  on  this  occasion  was 
establishing  him  more  surely  in  his  grandfather's  imagination 
as  a  rock  in  this  household  of  ineffectuals — Csecilia  an  old 
maid ;  Maria  a  dissatisfied  widow ;  Jack,  the  less  of  him  the 
better;  Philip  drearily  browsing  in  the  dead  and  buried 
centuries.  This  boy  was  another  matter — thank  God ! 

"  You  need  take  none  of  the  responsibility,"  he  replied. 
"  Write  to  James  McCoy,  tell  him  it  is  my  wish  you  leave 
the  team.  Don't  try  to  explain  anything.  Have  I  your 
word  ?  " 

"  Yes— and  I— I " 

"What?" 

Neal  wanted  to  cry  out,  "  I  hate  you ! "  but  something 
wistful  in  his  grandfather's  eyes  restrained  him. 

"  Nothing— good-night,  Sir." 

But  Caecilia  blocked  the  doorway,  her  pale,  virginal  face 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  55 

lit  up  with  some  unusual  emotion  or  resolution.  She  gently 
barred  Neal's  passage  and  put  an  arm  about  his  shoulder 
in  an  appealing  way,  that  he  answered  dumbly  by  standing 
still  to  see  what  service  she  wanted  of  him.  He  felt  in- 
stinctively the  thrill  of  some  strong  feeling  in  her  which 
his  own  wracked  spirit  answered. 

"Father?" 

"What  is  it,  Cecilia?" 

"  You're  unhappy  to-night.  It  may  change  your  thoughts 
if  I  tell  you  some  pleasanter  news.  I've — I've  accepted  Mr. 
Griffin." 

Her  father  turned  his  head  sharply  with  a  long,  still  look 
at  her.  In  the  lamplight,  her  pale,  sensitive  face  framed 
in  its  gray  hair,  her  angular  frame  a  little  rigid  from  the 
excitement  of  the  news  she  was  conveying,  she  seemed  as 
little  a  candidate  for  marriage  as  a  stiff  figure  out  of  some 
ancient  hagiology. 

"When  did  this  happen?"  Alexander  Carmichael  asked. 

"  Only  to-day." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you'll  be  happy.  Griffin's  a  good  man — and 
God  knows  they're  not  plenty.  Has  he  asked  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  He'll  call  to-morrow,"  she  said  timidly. 

Neal,  glancing  up  at  his  aunt,  felt  that  she,  too,  was 
struggling  towards  an  independence  not  yet  attained  by  the 
astounding  step  of  engaging  herself  to  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Griffin.  He  was  glad  because  she  seemed  glad — and  he 
liked  the  rector,  who  had  won  Neal's  heart  because,  when 
preparing  him  for  confirmation,  he  had  refrained  from 
probing  him,  had  accepted  his  boyish  incoherence  on  mystic 
subjects  as  a  substitute  for  "  convictions." 

"  I  just  am  pleased,  Aunt  Caecilia,"  Neal  whispered, 
squeezing  her  hand ;  then,  misery  overwhelming  him  again, 
he  beat  a  retreat  to  the  empty  schoolroom  and  laid  an 
aching  head  on  the  table.  Harder  even  than  crying  was  to 
wish  to  cry  and  not  be  able  to.  How  could  he  ever  write 
that  letter  to  James  McCoy,  and  what  should  he  say  to 
Patricia,  who  would  make  her  preparations  for  a  butter- 
scotch party?  What  a  sneak  they  would  think  him!  Or 


56  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

else  they  would  call  Alexander  Carmichael  a  wretched  snob 
and  an  oppressor  of  the  poor.  What  was  at  the  root  of  it 
all?  Neal,  piecing  together  the  scraps  of  conversation  he 
had  heard,  made  out  vaguely  that  his  Uncle  Jack  was  in 
the  center  of  this  family  storm — a  blast  strong  enough, 
indeed,  to  fix  even  Caecilia's  will  in  a  new  direction.  But 
where  was  Uncle  Jack  ?  It  was  not  fair  to  create  a  turmoil 
— and  then  leave. 

Suddenly  the  schoolroom  door  opened.  Two  figures  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway,  Philip  and  Charles  Divine,  who  was 
on  intimate  terms  with  the  Carmichael  family.  At  this 
crisis  Neal  would  have  resented  any  other  stranger  but 
Divine,  between  whom  and  himself  existed  a  sympathy 
which  seemed  independent  of  real  acquaintance. 

Philip  turned  up  the  light,  while  Divine,  with  a  nod  to 
Neal,  lit  a  cigar,  and  then  examined  with  unfeigned  pleasure 
one  of  Polly's  battered  dolls  lying  within  convenient  reach 
on  the  table. 

After  a  few  uneasy  turns  around  the  room  Philip  stopped 
abruptly  by  Neal's  chair. 

"  I  understand  your  grandfather  has  asked  you  to  do  a 
hard  thing." 

Neal  was  silent. 

"  You've  promised  ?  " 

"  I  had  to,"  Neal  gave  back  passionately.  "  It  isn't  fair — 
and  it  is  dreadful  to  happen  now.  Patricia's  making  butter- 
scotch for  us  to-morrow — and  we've  just  founded  the  society 
of  the  Rosicrucians." 

Divine  laid  down  the  doll  suddenly  and  looked  at  Neal. 
The  editor's  lean  face  was  lit  for  a  moment  with  a  curious 
light,  reminiscent,  it  would  seem,  of  some  experiences  not 
shared  by  the  majority. 

"  In  heaven's  name,  where  did  you  youngsters  hear  of 
that?" 

Neal  explained,  Divine  listening  with  a  queer,  enigmatical 
smile. 

"  Did  you  know  of  them,  sir  ?  "  Neal  asked. 

Uncle  Philip  began  to  give  data  after  the  manner  of  a 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  57 

professor,  but  Divine  interrupted  him.  "  There's  no  ade- 
quate history,  Philip. — Well,  is  this  society  now  to  be  dis- 
solved?" 

"  It  has  to  be,"  Neal  answered  bitterly. 

"  Submit." 

"  To  an  injustice?  " 

"  Yes.  It's  the  only  way  of  conquering  it. — Well,  tell 
Polly  that  Clementina's  wig  needs  combing/'  he  added,  pick- 
ing up  the  doll  again.  "  Philip,  I  must  be  off." 

He  nodded  pleasantly  to  Neal,  but  the  light  touch  in  his 
manner  had  restored  the  boy's  equanimity.  When  he  had 
gone  Neal  addressed  himself  to  his  uncle,  who  still  wore 
a  tragic  air  of  gloom  and  disgust. 

"  Uncle  Philip,  I  think  I  have  the  right  to  know  what 
this  is  all  about." 

"  You  are  paying  with  the  rest  of  us  for  your  Uncle 
Jack's  misdemeanors,"  was  the  reply. 

"  What  has  he  done  ?  " 

"  He  doesn't  treat  women  as  he  should,  particularly 
women  not  in  his  own  class.  Your  grandfather  is  afraid 

that  some  day  your  knowing "  He  broke  off  in  sudden 

embarrassment,  for  the  boy's  clear  eyes  fixed  upon  his  did 
not  look  comprehending. 

"  So  I  am  to  give  up  baseball  and  James  and  Patricia 
because  Uncle  Jack  hasn't  been  good,"  he  exclaimed  bit- 
terly. It  was  his  first  realization  of  the  interdependence  of 
human  beings  and  of  the  unpleasant  chance  everyone  runs 
of  being  hampered  or  retarded  by  someone  else.  "  It  isn't 
fair,"  he  finished  hotly.  "Where  is  Uncle  Jack?  I  want 
to  tell  him  it  isn't  fair." 

"  He's  gone  to  a  hotel,  and  he  sails  for  Venice  to- 
morrow." 

"  Venice !  "  Neal  cried.  The  word  had  always  held  magic 
for  him.  Uncle  Jack  exiled  to  Venice! — that  wonderful 
city  of  the  boy's  dreams.  "  That's  the  way  he  gets  punished ! 
And  I  stay  home  and  give  up  baseball." 

Philip  drummed  drearily  on  the  windowpane.  "  Caecilia's 
going  to  be  happy,"  he  commented.  "  It  needed  a  family 


58  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

row  to  push  her  into  Griffin's  arms.  Maria's  upstairs  crying. 
She's  fond  of  Jack." 

"  He's  going  to  Venice ! — and  I've  got  to  write  two  awful 
letters !  " 

"  Do  it  and  get  it  over,"  Philip  advised. 

He  left  Neal  to  his  bitterness,  to  tears  shed  behind  a 
locked  schoolroom  door,  to  blotted  paper  and  scattered  frag- 
ments of  impossible  screeds.  Neal  wept  the  most  over 
James's  letter.  Through  its  blundering  phrases  his  spirit 
cried  out  as  sharp  a  farewell  as  ever  classic  poet  waved  to 
the  retreating  shade  of  a  comrade  beloved. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  is  observable  that  not  a  little  of  the  tragic  aspect  of 
events  comes  from  their  association  with  the  small,  obscure 
elements  that  make  up  the  day's  round.  If  a  gardener's 
boy  had  delivered  Neal's  two  notes  early  in  the  morning, 
as  he  was  told  to  do,  Patricia  would  have  been  spared  the 
contrast  between  her  assembled  bowls  and  platters  for  a 
butter-scotch  party  and  the  unbearable  fact  that  the  guests 
would  never  come. 

She  had  spent  the  whole  forenoon  in  her  preparations, 
scouring  the  copper  kettles  until  they  shone,  brightening  up 
a  kitchen  which,  with  its  red  geraniums  in  the  windows 
and  its  gleaming  utensils  on  the  wall,  was  always  a  pleasant 
sight.  The  whole  family  had  assisted  at  the  function,  full 
of  silent  pride  that  Patricia  could  so  hold  her  own  with 
the  hill-people  that  hill  and  shore  had  made  permanent 
arrangements  to  play  together.  Even  Mrs.  McCoy,  the 
Rubicon  of  the  party  safely  passed,  was  disposed  to  refrain 
from  pessimistic  prophecies. 

At  the  climax  of  the  preparations  Neal's  notes  were 
handed  in.  James  brought  Patricia  hers  before  opening  the 
one  addressed  to  himself.  She  read  it,  turned  as  white  as 
the  dress  she  wore,  crushed  the  paper  in  her  hand,  and  faced 
James,  who  was  already  digesting  his  communication  with 
a  wry  countenance.  Mrs.  McCoy,  who  happened  to  be  in 
the  kitchen,  looked  anxiously  from  one  child  to  the  other. 

"  What  is  it,  James  ?  " 

"  Somebody  on  the  hill's  got  cold  feet.  It  isn't  Neal, 
I  guess.  But  I've  lost  the  only  pitcher  the  Terriers  can 
work  up  this  winter.  I  guess  the  kid's  aunts  want  to  put 
him  back  in  cotton  wool." 

He  handed  the  note  to  his  mother.  When  she  read  it  her 
eyes  instinctively  sought  Patricia's.  The  girl's  lips  were 

59 


60  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

working  nervously,  and  there  was  a  look  in  her  face  as  if 
she  were  smothering.  No  need  to  ask  what  was  in  her 
note.  She  was  beginning  to  put  away  the  bowls  and  dishes 
in  a  noiseless,  secretive  way  that  surrounded  these  everyday 
implements  with  an  atmosphere  of  strangeness.  For  several 
hushed,  black  minutes  something  sinister  filled  the  kitchen. 
James  made  good  his  retreat  with  a  hollow  whistle.  As  well 
touch  a  live  wire  as  speak  to  Patricia  under  such  circum- 
stances. 

But  her  mother  could  not  bear  it.  "  Get  your  hat  on,  me 
sweet — and  we'll  go  up  to  the  city  and  take  in  a  show." 

Patricia  laughed  then — but  she  did  not  reply.  Something 
in  the  laughter  frightened  her  mother. 

"  You're  not  grievin'  for  a  parcel  of  children  whose  elders 
don't  seem  to  know  their  own  minds.  If  they've  been  rude 
to  you,  it's  their  loss,  not  yours." 

For  answer  Patricia  threw  Neal's  note  on  the  fire.  "  I 
am  going  out  for  a  walk,  Mother, — and  please  don't  talk  it 
over  with  the  family." 

Her  colorless  voice  reassured  her  mother,  who  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  wrath  stir  in  her  bosom  that  her  chicks  should 
be  thus  treated  by  the  people  on  the  hill.  Her  strong 
common  sense  had  foreseen  some  such  outcome,  but  she 
had  scarcely  expected  the  break  to  come  so  soon  and  in  so 
discourteous  a  manner. 

Patricia  took  her  hat  from  the  peg,  and  went  out  into 
a  world  from  which  all  sunlight  had  departed.  Even  in 
the  fresh  October  air  she  felt  as  if  she  were  choking,  for 
the  tumult  of  her  emotions  was  like  a  black  and  breathless 
storm.  Under  that  strange  law  by  which  love  springs 
stronger  from  a  wound,  she  had  to  bear,  in  addition  to  her 
disappointment  and  mortification,  a  fierce  longing  to  see  Neal 
Carmichael,  to  tell  him  he  was  a  wretched,  hateful  coward, 
a  retreater,  a  false  friend,  a  self-seeker,  and  yet  only  he — 
only  he — could  comfort  her,  only  he — miserable  fact — could 
restore  her  self-respect. 

She  sought  the  hills  and  flew  over  them  with  the  light 
step  of  the  despairing.  Her  visions  fell  crushed  about  her, 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  61 

her  dreams  mocked  her.  She  was  to  have  studied  French, 
music,  German;  she  was  to  have  gone  to  college — all  for 
Neal  Carmichael.  She  had  wanted  to  be  beautiful,  learned, 
distinguished,  full  of  confidence  like  Ada,  so  that  in  the  end 
— she  could  not  blink  that  fact — Neal  would  think  as  much 
of  her  as  he  did  of  Ada. 

Neal  would  never  have  treated  Ada  so !  Why  did  being 
shore-people  give  hill-people  the  right  to  be  cruel  to  you? 
Patricia  suddenly  hated  her  class,  her  friends,  even  poor 
James  with  his  sordid  baseball  honors!  How  could  you 
ever  be  happy  in  this  world  while  there  were  people  above 
you  who  could  smite  you,  crush  you  with  a  word  or  two? 
Patricia  longed  to  be  among  the  smiters,  the  wielders  of 
power.  She  had  made  a  poor  beginning,  and  the  thorns 
seemed  actually  crushed  against  her  breast. 

"  I'll  do  it  yet!  I'll  make  them  see  yet!  "  she  cried  out 
of  her  misery.  And  she  tried  to  solace  her  wounded  spirit 
with  visions  of  her  self  grown  by  some  miracle  rich  and 
powerful  and  exalted;  of  her  meeting  Neal  in  some  draw- 
ing-room where  he  would  find  her  the  center  of  an  admiring 
circle  and  inquire  her  name  and  origin.  She  pictured  his 
surprise,  his  admiration,  his  deep  repentance.  What  then? 
Should  she  repulse  him?  She  would  keep  him  a  long  time 
in  doubt.  This  afternoon  would  mean  years  of  purgation 
for  Neal.  She  began,  in  imagination,  to  get  over  these 
years — to  hurry  to  the  end,  to  the  inevitable  end,  when,  her 
cheek  against  his,  she  would  tell  him  he  was  her  dearest, 
dearest  friend,  and  always  would  be. 

Out  of  this  dream  she  woke  again  to  the  reality — the 
bleak  hill,  the  bright,  chilly  October  air,  and  in  the  distance 
the  house  of  the  Carmichaels  looking  seaward.  Her  airiest 
flights  of  fancy  could  not  comfort  her  because  years  must 
elapse  before  anything  could  be  accomplished.  Meanwhile 
she  was  just  Patricia  McCoy  who  went  to  Public  School  49 
and  so  could  not  play  with  Neal. 

Patricia  wandered  all  afternoon,  unconscious  of  cold  and 
fatigue,  and  found  herself  at  last  by  the  Mariner's  Rest. 
By  this  time  pride  had  left  her.  She  only  knew  that  she 


62  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

was  muscle-weary  and  chilled  and  that  Uncle  Shamus's  fire 
would  be  burning  brightly. 

She  found  him  crouching  over  it,  the  inevitable  black 
pipe  in  his  mouth.  At  the  sight  of  her  his  good  eye  beamed 
a  warm  welcome.  Since  yesterday  she  had  been  much  in 
his  thoughts;  he  had  scarcely  recognized  her  in  the  char- 
acter of  an  heiress  who  was  doubting  her  inheritance — a 
ruby  as  red  as  saints'  blood. 

"Come  in,  me  lass!  You  wanted  to  see  Uncle  Shamus. 
It's  foine  to  have  you  without  your  grand  friends." 

"  No  friends  of  mine,"  Patricia  said  in  a  choking  voice, 
as  she  drew  near  the  fire  and  spread  her  hands  to  it. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  the  sense  to  know  that,  me  colleen. 
The  young  lass  in  particular  would  do  ye  an  ill  turn  as  soon 
as  look  at  ye — if  you  got  in  her  way,  an'  her  boy  cousin's 
not  much  better.  The  other  one " 

Patricia  held  her  breath,  then  she  said  huskily,  "  The 
other  one's  no  better." 

Shamus  regarded  her  with  curiosity.  "  Has  he  done  you 
an  ill  turn,  me  lass  ?  " 

"  I  say — he's  no  better  than  the  others.  I — I — hate  him, 
Uncle  Shamus ! " 

Shamus  puffed  at  his  pipe  and  reflected. 

"  The  man  that  war  a  Rosicrucian  said  hate  tied  you 
hard  an'  fast  to  the  one  hated,"  he  began  after  a  while. 
"  Two  enemies  was  like  magnet  an'  iron.  I  disbelieved  him 
then — but  once  I  got  an  awful  enmity  with  the  ship's  cook. 
He  left  the  Flyin'  Mercury  afore  we  could  have  a  fight  an' 
let  blood  an'  get  the  pizen  out  of  us.  So,  by  Ireland's  mis- 
eries, there  was  no  remote  spot  of  the  world  afterward  but 
what  I  met  him  in  it — Singapore  an'  Samoa  an'  Cape  Town. 
An'  we  always  kep'  on  hatin'  an'  delayin*  the  good,  savin', 
head-breakin'  shake-down  that  would  have  made  us  friends. 

"  I  come  upon  him  final  in  the  Suez.  He  war  dyin' — an' 
I  says  to  him,  '  I  can't  call  you  a  liar  on  your  deathbed, 
Michael,  nor  break  your  head  for  you,  so  let's  call  it  square 
without  them  friendly  preliminaries.'  He  grasped  my  hand 
like  a  brother,  and  he  says,  '  I'd  like  to  have  kicked  the 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  63 

liver  out'n  you,  Shamus  O'Brien,  but  it's  too  late  now  for 
such  kind  attentions ;  let's  call  it  square.'  So  we  made  up, 
an'  he  died  peaceful  an'  we  buried  him  in  the  Red  Sea 
with  benefit  of  clergy,  God  rest  his  soul ! — though  his  pota- 
toes was  always  soggy.  It  was  them  that  started  the  row — 
soggy  potatoes." 

He  turned  to  see  the  effect  of  this  sprightly  narrative 
upon  Patricia,  who  had  stretched  herself  on  the  hearthrug 
before  the  fire;  but  she  seemed  asleep,  for  her  face  was 
buried  in  the  bearskin.  Most  content  to  have  her  there, 
he  leaned  back  in  his  armed  chair  and  for  a  long  time 
puffed  peacefully  at  his  pipe,  and  watched  her.  Her  face  was 
flushed,  and  once  or  twice  she  whispered  something  in  her 
sleep.  It  was  borne  upon  him  at  last  that  he  did  not  like 
her  looks,  as  not  natural  enough  to  suit  the  Patricia  he 
knew.  Leaning  over,  he  pushed  her  gently  by  the  shoulder. 
She  opened  her  eyes  drowsily  and  she  spoke,  and  he  strained 
his  ear  to  listen. 

"  And  the  Fly  in'  Mercury,"  she  whispered,  "  went  straight 
through  the  hoop  of  light  into  calm  water." 


CHAPTER  IX 

NEAL  leaned  against  the  railing  of  a  transatlantic  liner, 
scrutinizing  with  tender  interest  the  hills  of  that  Island 
which  flanks  Manhattan's  harbor  on  the  south.  He  had  the 
air  of  one  who  had  finished  his  lotus-eating  period  with 
satisfaction  and  was  prepared  for  a  good  share  in  a  game 
whose  stakes  were  already  known  to  him. 

The  Island  and  its  affairs  had  been  kept  prominently 
before  him  during  his  European  sojourn.  Amid  the  scenes 
of  Oxford,  Neal  had  Divine's  letters  to  remind  him  that 
his  classical  browsings  must  some  day  serve  the  interests  of 
The  Courier  and  of  the  complex  democracy  of  his  own  land. 
His  grandfather  admonished  him  to  study  English  political 
institutions,  and  in  the  same  sheet  informed  him  that  his 
cousin  Polly  gave  promise  of  great  beauty.  What  gossip 
of  the  Islanders  his  grandfather  omitted,  Jack  and  Csecilia 
supplied. 

Everyone  wrote  except  Ada,  though  Neal's  letters  to  her 
continued,  even  during  that  period  in  Rome  when  he  had 
fallen  in  love  with  such  violence  as  to  take  the  family  into 
his  confidence.  It  transpired  that  the  most  acute  stage  of 
the  disease  was  precisely  when  he  was  unacquainted  with 
the  object  of  his  adoration.  After  the  Ambassador  had 
brought  about  the  meeting,  the  flame  languished  and  died; 
for  Neal  was  always  measuring  women  by  Ada's  remem- 
bered supremacies.  His  fidelity  to  his  conception  of  her 
outweighed  the  evidence  of  ladies  who  were  there  to  speak 
for  themselves. 

Well,  he  should  soon  see  her !  The  shores  of  the  Island 
which  held  her  were  close  at  hand,  for  the  ship,  having 
passed  quarantine,  was  now  majestically  on  its  way  through 
the  Narrows,  saluted  on  all  sides  by  smaller  craft.  One 
tug  was  near  enough  for  Neal  to  read  its  name.  The  Mary 

67 


68  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

McCoy  evoked  a  whole  chapter  of  his  boyhood :  his  first 
attempt  at  fraternity,  which  had  ended  in  disaster.  What 
had  become  of  James  and  of  his  pretty,  fiery  sister  Patricia  ? 

On  the  Mary  McCoy,  just  within  the  shelter  of  the  cabin, 
a  young  woman  in  nurse's  costume  was  watching  with 
grave,  eager  eyes  the  approach  of  the  huge  Arcadia,  one  of 
whose  passengers  was  known  to  her.  Old  defeats  of  hers 
had  yielded  to  triumphs  which  she  sometimes  hoped,  wist- 
fully, would  reach  the  notice  of  Neal  Carmichael.  Her 
ancient  desire  to  make  him  suffer  was  swallowed  up  in  the 
stronger  desire  to  make  him  wonder. 

She  had  surprised  her  own  family,  at  least.  Some  of 
the  dollars  brought  in  by  the  stout  little  tug  had,  in 
Patricia's  case,  transmuted  themselves  to  such  alphabetic 
phenomena  as  college  degrees.  McCoy  and  his  wife  had 
attended  more  than  one  commencement,  endeavoring  not  to 
appear  too  proud,  black  silk  by  black  broadcloth  in  agitated 
satisfaction — Patricia  a  B.A.,  then  an  M.A. ;  beyond  these 
mysteries,  the  more  tangible  accomplishment  of  nursing, 
with  the  Municipality  backing  her.  Strangest  of  all,  James 
McCoy  often  reflected,  she  was  very  pretty.  The  Captain 
had  always  thought  that  women  studied  things  and  became 
learned  because  nobody  would  love  them.  Yet,  here  was 
Patricia  as  white  and  pink  as  any  lass  fed  on  buttermilk  in 
misty  old  Ireland.  And  what  she  knew !  Almost  as  much 
as  Father  Carew.  But  her  accomplishments  were  not 
frightening  away  Thomas  Murphy — quite  the  gentleman 
Thomas,  with  a  whole  wrecking  yard  under  his  say-so ;  and 
devoted  to  Patricia,  who  wasn't  overkind  to  him.  But 
then,  that  was  the  way  of  maids. 

The  Arcadia  swept  grandly  by,  and  the  tug  rocked  in  her 
swell.  Patricia,  her  cheeks  glowing,  looked  dreamily  after 
her,  her  thoughts  concerned  with  the  returning  voyager. 
Since  the  day  when  the  Rosicrucian  society  had  broken  up 
in  disaster  she  had  had  only  far-off  glimpses  of  Neal  Car- 
michael, whose  life  and  career  she  had  to  create  for  herself 
— a  drama  pieced  out  by  what  Delia  told  her  of  his  am- 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  69 

bitions.  She  was  glad  that  he  was  interested  in  the  problems 
of  democracy  even  in  feudal  Oxford,  that  he  believed  in 
fraternity.  Their  worlds  might  never  touch,  but  she  at 
least  was  ready  if  they  did.  The  proud  Miss  Fleming  had 
missed  all  the  fun  of  this  effort  of  unseen  companionship, 
because  she  had  had  so  few  things  to  learn — Patricia  so 
many! 

Her  eyes  followed  the  great  boat  which  seemed  about  to 
disappear  into  the  sunset,  deep  in  the  horizon  where  the 
mists  were  ruddy,  where  even  the  solemn,  far-off  mountains 
of  the  western  shore  partook  of  the  enchantment  of  distance 
and  desire. 

Neal  was  experiencing  the  usual  sensations  of  the  home- 
comer  whose  long  absence  is  like  a  novel  into  which  every- 
one wants  the  first  glimpse.  The  faint  antagonism  between 
the  traveled  and  the  stationary  had  faded  after  the  first 
greetings,  but  he  still  felt  not  quite  at  ease  with  his  family. 
There  was  too  much  to  explain  in  the  course  of  a  dinner ; 
and  Neal  was  too  conscious  of  a  certain  anticipatory  at- 
mosphere, as  if  the  curtain  had  rung  up  at  last  on  the  real 
play,  Jack  and  Philip  having  proved  themselves  unequal  to 
the  part  of  heroes.  Their  nephew  had  an  uneasy  sense  of 
being  chosen  for  the  role,  if  the  look  in  Maria's  eyes  and 
in  Caecilia's  could  be  trusted,  and  his  grandfather's  chal- 
lenging questions.  Neal,  surveying  this  circle,  let  his  eyes 
rest  oftenest  upon  Polly,  as  soft  and  exquisite  as  a  Romney 
portrait,  he  thought,  yet  the  delicate  contours  showed 
strength  of  will.  She  was  appraising  him  with  loyal  glances 
from  what  seemed  to  him  the  most  beautiful  eyes  he  had 
ever  seen. 

He  wanted  to  ask  for  Ada,  but  for  the  life  of  him  he 
couldn't  repeat  that  little  name  of  hers,  caught  up  Peter's 
instead,  was  told  that  Peter  was  in  the  Street  "  where  we 
all  are,"  Maria  elucidated,  "  except  Ceil — all  trying  to  make 
our  fortunes." 

This  was  puzzling.  Wasn't  the  Carmichael  fortune  made 
a  hundred  years  ago  ?  The  head  of  the  house,  as  if  reading 


70  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

his  grandson's  thoughts,  said  wistfully,  "  I  worked  hard 
for  many  years,  Neal.  Now  I  like  to  see  money  come  in 
without  work " 

When  the  men  were  alone  at  the  table  they  leaned  back 
in  their  chairs  to  smoke  and  listen  comfortably  while  Neal 
elucidated  himself,  being  genuinely  curious  to  know  what 
Europe  had  done  for  him  and  what  he  in  his  turn  would 
do  for  the  family.  The  history  of  the  Carmichaels  had 
been  for  generations  a  series  of  threatened  overthrows, 
averted  at  the  last  minute  by  some  member  more  alert 
and  puissant  than  his  brethren  whose  drop  of  Irish  blood 
was  their  warrant  to  dream  more  than  it  is  ever  safe  in 
a  land  devoted  to  doing.  Neal  was  inquiring  for  Divine 
when  Graham  ushered  him  in.  The  two  men  greeted  each 
other  with  a  certain  eagerness,  the  younger  slipping  at  once 
under  the  fascination  which  still  emanated  from  the  great 
editor,  who  had  come  not  only  to  welcome  Neal,  but  to 
claim  him  for  The  Courier. 

"  I  can't  make  him  rich,  Jack,"  he  said,  as  if  in  reply 
to  an  anxious  look  from  Jack  Carmichael,  "  but  I  can  show 
him  a  run  into  politics." 

Neal's  eyes  brightened  with  appreciative  assent.  "  Oh, 
the  money  can  wait.  The  main  thing  is  to  be  with  you." 

Jack  whistled  and  rolled  his  blue  eyes  to  the  ceiling. 
Here  was  another  Carmichael  who  seemed  likely  to  con- 
tribute only  ideals  to  the  family  treasury.  His  grandfather's 
face  paled  for  a  moment  as  he  wondered  how  long  he  could 
keep  Neal  ignorant  of  the  state  of  the  family  finances. 
While  he  was  in  Europe  it  had  been  comparatively  easy  to 
let  him  think  the  Carmichael  fortune  was  still  in  mellow 
zenith. 

Divine  was  making  his  adieus  when  Graham  announced 
another  visitor  at  sight  of  whom  Neal's  heart  beat  vio- 
lently, though  he  beheld  advancing  towards  him  a  changed 
Peter,  smoothed  out  of  recognition  by  some  early  and  ex- 
traordinary success  in  life,  a  good-looking,  assured  young 
man,  beyond  playing  squire  to  anybody,  but  genuinely  de- 
lighted to  see  Neal.  They  talked  commonplaces,  as  people 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  71 

are  likely  to  do  who  meet  after  a  long  absence,  Peter's 
eyes  wandering  often  from  Neal  to  Polly,  with  masculine 
proprietary  glances  under  which  she  seemed  uneasy.  He 
spoke  of  a  dance  to  which  they  were  all  going,  adding  with 
a  significant  accent,  "  Ada  will  be  there." 

Neal  saw  flame  for  a  moment.  A  wave  of  expectant 
emotion  passed  over  him,  and  Peter,  noting  the  change  in 
his  face,  was  secretly  amused.  Of  course,  Ada  would  do 
what  she  liked  with  him,  and  he  would  think  her  an  angel, 
as  in  the  old  days  when  they  were  all  children  together. 
Peter  had  what  his  friend  did  not  possess,  a  varied  knowl- 
edge of  women,  of  all  kinds  of  women,  and  even  when  he 
couldn't  read  them  he  didn't  idealize  them. 

As  soon  as  he  had  satisfied  his  curiosity  concerning  his 
old  chum,  Peter  was  for  carrying  Polly  off  to  the  dance. 
She  seemed  reluctant,  but  Mrs.  Guthrie  spoke  to  her  with 
a  certain  authoritative  briskness,  and,  rising,  she  left  the 
room.  Neal  taking  advantage  of  a  moment  of  general  con- 
versation followed  her.  She  was  already  on  the  stairs  when 
he  entered  the  hall,  but  hearing  his  step  she  turned  and  stood 
for  a  moment,  a  slender,  expectant  figure  with  a  touch  of 
gravity  in  her  air,  which  did  not  seem  natural  in  a  young 
girl  departing  to  a  dance. 

"  Cousin  Neal,"  she  said  softly. 

Some  depth  of  feeling  in  her  voice  called  to  the  expectant 
emotion  in  his  own  heart,  and  he  came  to  the  stair  just 
beneath  her,  his  face  upturned  to  hers. 

"  Cousin  Neal,  it's  net  Peter,"  she  said,  with  a  little  catch 
in  her  breath.  "  I  wanted  you  to  know.  Mother  and  I " 

She  broke  off  with  a  little  sigh,  but  Neal  understood. 
Between  himself  and  Polly's  mother  with  her  worldly 
standards  scant  sympathy  existed.  All  at  once  he  was 
enlisted  heart  and  soul  for  his  little  cousin,  against  an 
ambitious  family.  It  was  all  too  obvious  what  Mrs.  Guthrie 
wanted. 

"  Polly  dear,"  he  said,  "  you're  not  eighteen.  Time 
enough  years  from  now.  Meanwhile,  I'm  here — and  they 
sha'n't  bully  you." 


72  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

A  smile  overspread  her  face.  The  enchanting  evanescent 
sweetness  of  her  youth  seemed  like  an  actual  perfume  in 
the  air.  What  her  look  conveyed  was  a  secret,  the  thrill  of 
which  he  felt  instantly.  Of  course,  there  was  someone 
else!  A  girl  like  a  spring  flower  holding  fire  and  dew  in 
its  chalice  could  never  escape  romance.  He  framed  a  ques- 
tion. Putting  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  she  said  eagerly, 
reverently,  as  if  reciting  her  faith,  "  I'm  engaged  to  William 
Sidney.  He'll  be  at  the  dance  to-night.  I  haven't  told 
Mother  yet.  She  wants  me  for  Peter — because — Peter's  so 
very  rich." 

"  But  what  difference  does  that  make  ?  " 

"  I  think  we — are  in  difficulties,"  Polly  said  quaintly. 

"  And — William  Sidney  is  not  rich  ?  " 

"He's  poor!  He  doesn't  know  it.  I  don't  want  him 
ever  to  know  it." 

Neal  felt  like  saying,  "  He  never  will  if  he  has  you," 
but  Mrs.  Guthrie  had  appeared  in  the  hall.  She  gave  him 
a  keen  look,  then  followed  her  daughter.  Neal  went  back 
to  Peter,  his  mind  on  the  "  difficulties "  of  which  Polly 
had  spoken.  Now  that  he  thought  of  it,  the  garden  did  look 
neglected,  Graham's  livery  was  shabby,  the  tone  of  time  was 
in  the  old  house;  and  Americans  did  not  let  things  remain 
in  static  picturesqueness  for  its  own  sake. 

He  had  no  opportunity  to  ask  his  grandfather  what  it 
all  meant,  for  when  the  others  had  gone  Caecilia  and  Dr. 
Griffin  engaged  him  in  a  conversation  on  Oxford.  Curbing 
his  impatience  to  be  off  to  Ada,  he  spoke  of  the  things  that 
would  interest  them  most — not  Shelley's  sarcophagus  in 
University  College,  but  Pusey  House,  and  the  village  of  Lit- 
tlemore,  where  Newman  had  yielded  his  struggling  soul  at 
last  to  an  Ancient  Will.  It  was  nearly  eleven  before  he 
finally  said  good-night  and  slipped  away  to  the  dance, 
musing  as  he  went  upon  the  changed  conditions  at  home. 
He  had  thought  more  of  money  in  the  few  hours  since  his 
landing  on  American  soil  than  during  his  four  years'  so- 
journ abroad.  It  seemed  in  the  air.  It  was  in  the  old 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  73 

house,  like  an  underbred  ghost,  which,  if  embodied,  would 
have  been  shown  the  door. 

To  make  money  was  not  the  ambition  he  had  brought 
back  to  the  United  States;  rather  to  aid  in  the  revival  of 
its  democracy — a  tradition  preserved  like  a  mummy  in  a 
case,  while  the  plutocrats  stalked  outside  the  tomb,  alive 
and  lusty.  He  wanted  to  see,  investigate,  uproot,  rebuild, 
love  or  hate,  but  never  to  retire  into  the  indifference  of  per- 
sonal aggrandizement. 

Facing  her  in  the  little  conservatory,  he  had  the  sensa- 
tion of  having  wasted  those  years  in  Europe.  He  should 
have  been  home  working  for  his  right  to  win  her.  Not  only 
her  beauty  fascinated  him  but  her  poise,  which  long  ago 
had  subdued  his  own  uneasy  spirit.  Ada  had  been  born 
sure  of  many  things,  a  faculty  which  is  one  of  the  fairy 
gifts.  To  Neal,  something  of  fairy-light  was  all  about 
her,  as  she  faced  him  expectantly,  asking  mute  questions 
he  was  only  too  eager  to  answer.  Her  eyes,  blue  and  placid 
as  summer  lakes,  were  regarding  him  with  interest  and 
amusement.  He  was  the  same  idealistic  Neal  Carmichael! 

"  And  you  are  really  glad  to  be  home  ?  "  she  was  saying 
softly. 

"  I  didn't  know  how  glad  till  I  saw  you,  Ada ! " 

"  I  was  afraid  you'd  be  too  serious  to  come  to  a  dance. 
They  say  you  are  a  genius !  You  may  not  believe  it,  Neal," 
she  added,  in  a  teazing  voice,  "  but  I  read  all  your  articles 
in  The  Northern  Review.  People  talked  about  them  at  din- 
ners— said  you  were  the  coming  man — whatever  that  may 
mean." 

Neal  laughed.  "  If  I'm  a  coming  man,  you  are  the  person 
I  am  coming  to — if  you'll  let  me !  It  may  take  time.  I 
haven't  Peter's  knack  of  making  money." 

"I'm  glad  you  haven't.  You'll  be  famous  when  he's 
among  the  forgotten  millionaires." 

"  There's  something  I  .want  even  more  than  fame." 

Impulsively  he  took  her  hand  and  bent  over  it,  pressed 
his  lips  to  it — quite  in  the  manner,  Ada  thought,  of  the 


74  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

hero  of  an  old-fashioned  romance,  but  the  gesture  did  not 
displease  her. 

"  If  you  knew  how  I  had  looked  forward  to  seeing  you, 
Ada !  "" 

"  And  you  are  not  disappointed  ?  " 

"  Disappointed — my  dear " 

"  Yet  you  fell  in  .love  in  Italy !  " 

"  There  has  never  been  but  one  woman !  " 

She  did  not  answer  this  for  a  moment,  her  face  becom- 
ing grave,  as  if  she  wondered  if  he  meant  what  he  said. 
Ada  possessed  all  the  skepticism  of  a  woman  who  has  had 
many  love  affairs,  yet  the  hackneyed  words  on  Neal's  lips 
sounded  novel,  alluring,  as  if  he  might  reveal  to  her  an 
unknown  coast  worth  some  voyaging  to  behold. 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  conservatory,  her  beauty  merged 
on  the  magical;  and  he,  too,  felt  the  call  of  a  land  which 
is  on  no  known  map.  The  thrill  of  exploration  was  keying 
their  spirits  to  something  higher,  more  serious  than  the 
atmosphere  of  gayety  in  which  they  found  themselves.  He 
bent  towards  her  with  the  authority  of  the  lover. 

"  Ada — Ada  dear !  " 

"  Hush — here  comes  Peter !  " 

Neal,  turning,  saw  his  old  chum  approaching  with  some- 
thing very  like  a  scowl  on  his  handsome  face. 

"  Poor  Peter ! "  Ada  said,  "  I  am  afraid  your  little  cousin 
has  spoiled  his  evening  for  him." 

Her  voice  had  grown  suddenly  cold.  Neal  looked  anx- 
iously from  her  to  her  cousin,  conscious  of  that  confidence 
on  the  staircase.  Peter  seemed  better  fitted  for  business 
than  for  romance,  and  Neal  resolved  to  ask  him  before  the 
evening  was  over  what  the  trouble  was  at  Carmichael 
House. 

"  Don't  take  Ada  away,  Peter,"  he  said.  "  We've  just 
started  in." 

"  I'll  not  take  her  away,  but  Wentworth  will,"  Peter 
answered  with  a  grim  smile.  "  You'd  better  look  to  your 
laurels,  Neal ! " 

"Who's  Wentworth?" 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  75 

Peter  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"  One  of  Ada's  satellites  who  wants  to  be  the  central  sun. 
He's  an  Englishman,  with  barrels  of  money  and  related  to 
titles.  Here  he  comes  now,  Ada.  You'd  better  look 
sharp !  " 

"  Don't  be  a  goose,  Peter,"  she  said  coldly. 

At  the  very  suggestion  of  a  rival,  Neal's  jealousy  began 
to  stir,  assuming  presently  the  form  of  a  reflection  that 
after  all  he  himself  had  nothing  yet  to  offer  Ada  but  his 
demands  on  the  future,  while  this  stranger  was  already 
intrenched  in  the  material  well-being  which  is  a  man's 
warrant  for  marital  hopes.  With  these  gloomy  thoughts 
Neal  rose  to  be  introduced  to  Wentworth,  a  short,  fair 
man,  possessed  of  a  determined  mouth  and  clear,  unre- 
sponsive English  eyes,  well  adapted  for  staring  a  mere 
American  out  of  countenance.  He  acknowledged  the  intro- 
duction pleasantly  enough,  but  his  manner  as  he  bore  off 
Ada  said,  as  plainly  as  words,  that  he  felt  sure  of  some- 
thing of  which  Neal  was  not  sure. 

"  Let's  go  and  smoke,"  Peter  said. 

"I  am  supposed  to  be  chaperoning  Polly,  and  I  haven't 
had  a  glimpse  of  her." 

Peter's  face  darkened.  "  I  am  afraid  your  charming 
cousin  is  a  coquette,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  not  wholly  free 
from  acidity.  "  You  should  instruct  her,  Neal,  that  it's 
not  good  form  to  forget  her  dances." 

"Oh,  she  didn't  do  that— did  she?" 

For  answer  Peter  slipped  an  arm  through  Neal's.  "  Come 
to  the  smoking-room  and  have  a  chat." 

The  two  men,  facing  each  other  from  their  armchairs,  had 
difficulty  in  beginning  their  talk,  for  the  reason  that  each 
wanted  private  information  on  widely  different  subjects. 
Peter  was  wondering  if  Polly  had  ever  mentioned  him  in 
her  letters,  while  Neal  speculated  as  to  how  much  his 
friend  knew  of  the  state  of  the  family  finances.  He  asked 
an  abrupt  question  at  last. 

"  Your  grandfather  has  given  Jack-  far  too  much  author- 


76  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

ity,"  Peter  said  sharply.  "  Did  you  know  the  property  was 
mortgaged  ?  " 

Neal  turned  a  white,  incredulous  face  to  him.  "  Mort- 
gaged !  The  Carmichael  property  !  Who  holds  it?  " 

Peter  gave  an  unfamiliar  name.  "  Don't  take  it  so  hard, 
Neal.  If  you  had  had  a  practical  mind  like  my  humble 
self,  you  would  have  known  while  you  were  in  Harvard 
that  your  grandfather  trusted  Jack  too  much." 

"  I  thought  he  never  trusted  him  at  all,"  Neal  blurted  out. 

"  As  a  moral  picture-book  for  his  nephew,  no ;  as  a 
money-maker,  yes.  Jack  is  a  money-maker;  but  keeping 
money's  another  kind  of  art,  and  he  hasn't  got  it.  Don't 
look  so  tragic.  The  house  is  tumble-down,  anyway.  It's 
beginning  to  look  like  the  ruins  of  a  Greek  temple." 

The  knife  in  Neal's  heart  was  given  another  twist  by 
Peter's  description  of  his  home.  Ah !  it  was  time  to  climb 
to  its  cupola,  to  strain  eyesight  seaward  for  those  golden 
argosies  of  his  vanished  boyhood  approaching  under  a 
burden  of  white  unearthly  sails.  The  long  expectation  of 
his  house  and  race  could  not  end  this  way — with  Peter's 
grimace  and  jest  over  its  lost  hope  and  its  lost  desire.  He 
must  save  it,  somehow,  rescue  it  from  the  dishonors  of 
debt,  raise  it  again  into  its  former  sanctities. 

Peter  noted  his  agitation  with  surprise.  Neal  must  know 
that  he  never  had  been  a  prospective  inheritor  of  great 
wealth. 

"  Say,  old  fellow,"  he  whispered  sympathetically,  "  you 
haven't  been  getting  into  debt,  have  you,  on  your  pros- 
pects ?  " 

"  No !  but  it  makes  me  sick  to  have  the  house  in  the 
market.  It  has  been  the  shell  of  the  whole  tribe  of  us 
for  over  a  hundred  years.  Oh,  you  don't  know  !  " 

Clearly  Peter  didn't.  He  listened  with  a  queer  pucker 
of  his  lips,  as  if  he  must  whistle  his  astonishment.  Old 
houses  were  all  very  well,  but  nothing  to  make  a  fuss  over, 
and  always  draughty.  He  and  Ada  had  both  planned  their 
own ;  his  to  shelter  Polly,  hers  for  whatever  man  she  finally 
decided  upon.  It  might  as  well  be  Neal,  Peter  thought. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  77 

They   would   exchange   cousins  as  in   boyhood   they   had 
"  swapped  "  marbles. 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  that  little  mortgage,"  he  said 
soothingly,  putting  a  hand  on  Neal's  arm.  "  Your  beloved 
house  will  be  safe.  You  see,  I'm  going  to  be  in  the  family 
soon." 

Neal  turned  to  him  with  a  look  of  inquiry,  but  realized 
at  once  that  Peter  voiced  only  his  hopes,  not  his  certainties. 
This  boast  of  Peter's  gave  him  added  pain,  for  it  threw 
a  sinister  light  forward  on  the  whole  situation,  complicating 
it  hatefully.  Peter  might  use  his  power  as  a  lever  to  force 
Polly's  consent.  And  Neal,  himself,  how  far  off  from  Ada 
it  had  pushed  him!  How  disentangle  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world  and  Ada's  family  his  love  for  her  from  self-interest ! 

He  began  to  ask  quick,  hurried  questions  as  to  the  busi- 
ness aspects  of  the  situation.  Peter  replied  fully,  giving  him 
figures,  jotting  down  memoranda  on  a  bit  of  paper  for  him. 
Neal  sat  staring  at  it,  his  eyes  melancholy  pools  of  specula- 
tion, his  long  fingers  nervously  twisting  and  turning  the 
slip  of  paper.  Figures  had  always  puzzled  and  fatigued  him, 
but  he  felt  now  he  must  grip  them  beyond  evasion. 

Bitter  resentment  of  his  Uncle  Jack  welled  up  in  him. 
He  remembered  that  long  ago  he  had  been  made  to  give 
up  baseball  because  of  one  of  his  uncle's  escapades ;  while 
Jack  went  gracefully  to  Venice  and  unknown  waters  by 
way  of  repentance  and  amendment  of  life ! 

"  I  don't  believe  in  families  hanging  together,"  Peter 
commented.  "  I  admire  Mrs.  Guthrie  as  much  as  anybody, 
but  I  won't  have  her  live  with  Polly." 

,     "  You  seem  very  sure  of  Polly,"  Neal  said  with  resent- 
ment of  Peter  as  an  arbiter  of  the  family  fortunes. 

"  Look  here,  Neal,"  Peter  gave  back,  a  sullen  look  creep- 
ing over  the  well-bred  mask  of  his  features.  "  Don't  you 
want  me  to  have  that  little  cousin  of  yours?  You  know 
you  have  influence  with  her.  Use  it." 

"  I  don't  control  Polly's  heart,"  Neal  said,*  an  edge  of 
defiance  in  his  voice. 

"  But  you  want  to  control  Ada's." 


78  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

The  inference  was  unmistakable.  The  two  men  faced 
each  other,  the  inmost  secret  of  each  revealed.  Neal  soft- 
ened first,  coming,  at  the  very  sound  of  Ada's  name,  out 
of  the  nipping  wind  of  actuality  in  which  for  the  last  hour 
he  had  shivered,  and  resting  with  a  sigh  in  the  delicate 
world  of  his  fancy,  warmed  perpetually  by  her  presence. 
To  remember  her  was  to  forget  resentment.  Peter,  a  lover 
himself  after  his  own  fashion,  which  differed  from  Neal's, 
melted  to  the  look  in  his  friend's  eyes. 

"  Ada  for  Polly,"  he  cried  gayly. 

As  Neal  returned  after  his  interview  with  Peter,  the 
moon  rode  high  above  the  House  of  Carmichael,  shining 
full  upon  the  broad  facade  of  time-worn  brick  and  upon 
the  great  white  wooden  pillars  that  in  his  childhood  he  had 
believed  were  enchanted  giants.  In  the  pallid  light  the 
ancient  dwelling  had  its  old  air  of  expectation — awaiting 
its  hour  of  miraculous  recovery,  its  cargoes  of  wealth  from 
the  seas.  The  bushes  of  bridal  wreath  seemed  covered 
with  snow,  as  Neal  went  slowly  through  the  garden,  paus- 
ing by  the  oval  tulip  bed,  around  which  the  carriage  drive 
wound,  to  gaze  upon  the  house  where  he  hoped  some  day 
to  bring  Ada,  and  where  his  children  should  be  born.  That 
a  stranger's  hand  should  be  on  its  portal  was  a  profanation 
which  must  cease — even  if  he  had  to  delay  his  own  hap- 
piness. 

When  he  entered  he  found  that  the  household  had  retired 
for  the  night,  with  the  exception  of  Philip,  who  was  read- 
ing in  the  library.  He  was  just  the  person  Neal  wanted 
to  see,  and  Philip,  weary  of  his  book,  welcomed  him 
gladly. 

"  I  am  glad  Divine  thinks  he  can  make  an  editor  of 
you,"  Philip  remarked  when  they  were  both  in  easy-chairs 
before  the  fire,  always  needed  in  the  library  until  summer 
was  well  under  way. 

"  I  hope  the  process  won't  be  too  long.  I've  got  to  make 
good.  I'm  four  years  behind  as  it  is." 

Philip  looked  at  him  inquiringly.    "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  79 

Neal  answered  the  question  with  another.  "  Who  is  Dr. 
Murphy?" 

"  I  don't  know — why?  " 

Neal  reached  for  the  telephone  book,  turned  to  the  thin 
division  of  it  allotted  to  the  Island.  He  ran  his  finger 
through  the  M's.  "  Here's  a  Dr.  Thomas  Murphy." 

Suddenly  a  light  of  remembrance  dawned  upon  him. 
Years  ago  a  Dr.  Murphy  had  been  called  in  to  examine 
Chick  McCoy's  broken  wrist.  Could  it  possibly  be  the  same 
one? 

"  I  learned  to-night  from  Peter,"  he  went  on,  "  that  this 
gentleman  has  the  honor  of  holding  the  mortgage  on  this 
house." 

Philip  sat  erect  in  his  chair,  looking  genuinely  astonished. 
"  I  had  no  idea  of  such  a  thing,"  he  exclaimed. 

Neal  cast  a  half-contemptuous  glance  at  the  pile  of  books 
at  his  uncle's  elbow.  What  did  it  avail  to  consort  with 
Plato  and  Aristophanes,  with  St.  Augustine  and  Plotinus, 
if  it  blinded  one  to  things  going  on  under  one's  very  nose. 
Scholarship  was  a  bloodless  business,  since  scholars  could 
always  prove  an  alibi.  "  I  didn't  know  there  was  a  starving 
man  at  my  gates  yesterday.  I  was  assisting  at  the  con- 
version of  Constantine." 

"  Jack  knows  all  about  it,"  Neal  said. 

Philip  turned  his  gaunt  face  with  its  deep,  sunken  eyes 
to  his  nephew  in  a  kind  of  helpless  protest  and  inquiry. 
Jack  and  his  sins  had  always  struck  the  sharp  note  of  reality 
in  the  reminiscent  atmosphere  of  the  aging  house,  while 
Philip,  whose  grasp  of  actuality  was  weak,  was  content  to 
drift  away  from  uncongenial  family  matters  to  the  dear, 
dim  frescoes  of  the  past. 

"  Father  trusts  Jack  more  than  he  does  me,"  he  replied 
coldly.  "  He  dismisses  me  to  my  books  if  I  venture  opin- 
ions on  things  outside  of  them.  I'd  like  to  help,  but — what 
could  I  do!  I've  never  had  anything  but  a  professor's 
salary.  I  am  putting  a  certain  percentage  of  that  away  for 
my  old  age." 

His  statement  fell  drearily  on  Neal's  ears,  as  confessions 


8o  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

of  limitation  always  do  on  the  young  appraising  their 
boundless  universe.  He  fell  to  wondering  whether  this 
was  the  reason  that  the  world  of  women  had  let  Philip 
severely  alone,  women  always  ready  for  adventure.  They 
would  naturally  be  shy  of  a  man  who  doubted  his  universe, 
or  who  fenced  off  too  small  a  portion  of  it  against  the  cold. 
Perhaps  Grandfather  Alexander  Carmichael  was  instinc- 
tively right  when  he  preferred  Jack's  flirtations  with  the 
bounty-dispensing  Olympians. 

"  I'd  like  to  put  the  house  back  where  it  was  in  the  days 
of  Michael  Carmichael,"  Neal  said,  naming  a  prosperous 
ancestor  who  had  won  gold  from  the  sea. 

"  You  don't  expect  to  make  money,  do  you  ? "  Philip 
asked.  "  You've  got  bigger  things  to  do." 

"  I  want  to  make  money  so  I  can  do  them.  I  want  to 
live." 

For  answer  Philip  leaned  over  the  bookcase  and  drew  out 
a  Horace.  "  I've  always  loved  these  lines,"  he  said.  "  I'll 
give  you  a  woman's  translation  : 

" '  Ah,  Sestius,  happy  Sestius !  life  is  short, 
Too  short  e'en  to  begin  hopes  long  and  fair.' " 

They  both  glanced  instinctively  at  the  portrait  of  the  lady 
above  the  fireplace,  Neal's  ancestress  eternally  awaiting  her 
lover.  He  had  come  and  gone;  they  had  kissed  and  wept 
and  rejoiced;  and  then  consented  to  the  last  mystery,  for 
both  had  been  asleep  for  over  a  hundred  years  under  the 
walls  of  the  dim  church  by  the  sea  marshes. 

"  Read  me  more  of  Horace,"  Neal  said,  willing  at  last 
to  share  Philip's  limitations,  for  in  this  midnight  hour  in 
the  mellow  library  the  world-old  muddle  over  money  seemed 
inappropriate.  Philip  responded  gladly,  for  he  had  piti- 
fully few  opportunities  to  show  how  rich  his  narrow  king- 
dom was.  He  finished  the  Ode  to  Sestius  in  Latin,  while 
through  the  open  windows  the  night  wind  brought  scents 
of  the  garden  and  of  the  sea,  and  the  fire  sank  lower  on 
the  hearth.  Neal  thought  of  Ada,  not  as  an  heiress  chal- 
lenging all  his  strength  to  match  her  advantage,  but  as  a 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  81 

beloved  woman  from  whom  he  could  no  longer  be  separated. 
He  was  hopeful  again  as  he  climbed  the  stairs  to  his  old 
chamber,  released  as  usual  into  confidence  and  hope  through 
beauty,  not  fact.  As  he  passed  his  Uncle  Jack's  room  he 
was  conscious  of  that  worthy's  Gargantuan  snoring — the 
paean  from  oblivion  of  one  at  peace  with  all  the  world. 
Jack  did  not  require  the  ministrations  of  Horace  to  forget 
that  the  house  was  mortgaged. 


CHAPTER  X 

DESPAIRING  of  a  rescue  of  his  family  from  financial  dis- 
aster, Neal  threw  himself  into  his  new  life  as  a  reporter 
with  all  the  zest  of  a  man  taken  sharply  by  love  and  ambi- 
tion out  of  his  theoretical  world.  His  work  lay  chiefly  in 
the  tenement  districts,  those  swarming  hives  where  the 
bitter  honey  of  an  outlandish  patriotism  is  forever  being 
distilled.  Here  were  problems  of  poverty,  great  enough  to 
baffle  a  scientist,  or  to  wrest  his  faith  in  a  merciful  Creator 
from  the  saint.  Here  was  a  gurgitation  into  whose  foam 
and  boiling  the  offal  of  Europe  was  cast  for  a  chemical 
change,  beyond  the  wizardry  of  a  Prospero.  They  went 
in  the  oppressed — they  came  out  the  oppressors,  if  only  of 
one  ward,  of  a  little  group  of  girls  in  a  sweat-shop.  It  was 
marvelous !  Was  it  the  air  of  the  country  ?  Was  it  the 
result  of  its  over-nervous  life?  Neal  was  always  asking 
questions  never  to  be  answered  adequately  even  by  Divine 
in  his  editorial  watch-tower. 

Neal  was  one  day  on  the  track  of  a  convict  who,  just 
released,  had  telephoned  the  city  editor  that  he  had  "  hell's 
own  story  to  tell,"  to  the  proper  reporter,  whom  he  would 
await  at  a  certain  lodging-house.  Neal  was  sent  to  get 
what  he  could.  He  swung  along  the  crowded  streets  of  the 
East  Side  whose  scenes  seldom  awakened  in  his  heart  the 
warm,  spontaneous  response  of  the  born  humanitarian.  De- 
spite his  theoretical  efforts  towards  fraternity,  he  realized 
that  the  practice  of  brotherhood  in  its  fullest  significance 
was  beyond  his  undeveloped  powers.  His  five  senses  de- 
feated his  charity.  Stumbling  over  one  of  the  innumerable 
babies  on  the  sidewalk,  he  was  stooping  to  pick  it  up  when 
he  heard  a  low,  vibrant  voice  that  seemed  not  quite  sure 
of  itself. 

$2 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  83 

"  You  won't  get  very  far  if  you  stop  to  pick  up  babies, 
Mr.  Carmichael." 

Looking  up — the  voice  had  carried  him  back  years — he 
faced  a  young  woman  in  nurse's  costume,  whose  gray  eyes, 
just  now  starry  soft  as  only  Celtic  eyes  can  be,  were  re- 
garding him  with  nervous  curiosity,  further  indicated  by 
the  drawing  together  of  her  broad  brows  and  by  the  quiv- 
ering of  her  lips.  The  dark  hair  parted  over  the  forehead 
completed  the  image  this  young  woman  formed  of  a  crea- 
ture half-pagan  Diana,  half-gentle  saint.  Joy  shone  from 
her. 

"Patricia!" 

"  Ah,  you  do  remember  me !  " 

The  intonation  of  the  words  was  almost  elegiac,  as  if  she 
had  sung  a  requiem  forever  over  an  ancient  episode.  But 
her  eyes  were  prophetic,  were  already  searching  his  face 
as  if  to  discover  the  future. 

"  Remember  you !  Why,  I  never  forgot  those  days,  and 
our  poor  little  society  of  the  Rosicrucians." 

He  faltered,  for  suddenly  it  was  all  as  if  it  had  hap- 
pened yesterday,  the  whimsical  plans  of  five  children  for 
an  eternal  and  mystic  bond  suddenly  and  rudely  interrupted 
by  Olympian  adults. 

"  I  cried  over  those  notes,  Patricia." 

"  I  was  hurt  too  much  to  cry,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  I  want  to  hear  all  about  you,"  he  said  eagerly,  as  if 
glad  to  return  to  the  present.  "  There's  a  park  just  beyond 
here.  Let's  find  a  bench  and  chat  a  little.  Have  you 
time?" 

Time !  when  all  her  years  had  been  for  this  moment. 
She  was  casting  shy,  happy  glances  at  him,  glad  that  he 
was  so  good-looking.  She  wondered  if  he  missed  the 
foreign  land  where  he  had  lived  so  long,  and  if  some  woman 
there  had  known  his  love-making. 

"  I  had  lost  track  of  you  so  long,  Patricia,"  Neal  said, 
when  they  were  seated  on  a  bench  in  the  grubby  little  park. 

"  That  wasn't  my  fault." 

"  Nor  mine,  altogether."     Inquiring  for  James,  he  was 


84  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

told  that  her  brother  was  now  a  bookkeeper,  married,  and 
with  a  family  of  his  own.  Neal  smiled  over  this  sequel 
to  epic  adventures.  He  demanded  her  life's  history. 
Patricia  modestly  related  her  narrative,  so  exclusively 
American  in  its  blossoming  of  opportunity. 

Neal  listened  with  kindling  sympathy  and  interest.  Her 
beauty,  her  health,  her  vigorous  mentality,  her  sure,  clear 
outlook,  together  with  the  nameless  charm  that  made  her 
Patricia,  all  these  elements  were  combining  to  reawaken  the 
admiration  of  her  which  he  had  felt  long  ago  as  a  boy. 

"  We  must  have  some  talks  and  walks.  I  think  you  love 
the  Island  as  I  do." 

"  I  love  it  better  than  any  place  in  the  world,"  she  an- 
swered, not  adding  that  it  was  because  his  home  was  there. 

"  I  am  on  my  way  now  to  interview  a  man  named  Jim 
Mahaffy — just  out  of  prison." 

"  Jim  Mahaffy !    Oh,  this  is  good  luck !  " 

"  You  know  him  ?  " 

"  Lily  does,  and  she's  ill  and  wants  to  see  him.  I 
watched  the  papers  to  see  when  he'd  be  out,  and  I  wrote 
the  authorities,  but  I  could  get  no  information." 

"  Who  is  '  Lily  '  ?  "  Neal  asked. 

"  She  used  to  be  on  the  streets  until  she  met  Jim.  He 
was  kind  to  her,  the  first  man  who  ever  had  been,  I  im- 
agine. Then  he  was  sent  up  again — Jim  was  a  professional 
burglar — and  poor  Lily  was  starved  back  to  the  old  life. 
I  found  her  ill  and  miserable  one  night,  and  I've  kept 
her  off  the  streets  since.  She'll  get  well  if  she  can  see 
Jim.  I  want  him  to  marry  her." 

Patricia  had  become  for  the  moment  the  practical  trained 
nurse,  the  eager  philanthropist. 

They  went  together  to  the  address  given,  and  found  Jim 
in  a  lodging-house,  a  pale,  defiant-looking  man,  broken  in 
health  through  prison  life,  as  society's  method  of  fitting 
him  again  for  "  honest  toil."  When  they  entered  the 
frowsy  office  he  was  seated  in  an  armchair,  his  head  sunk 
between  his  shoulders,  which  were  raised  in  an  ineffectual 
hump.  Clearly  the  spirit  of  bravado  or  of  burning  resent- 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  85 

ment,  which  had  inspired  him  to  send  forth  a  challenge 
to  the  world  to  listen  to  his  story,  had  deserted  him;  or 
perhaps  an  atmosphere  saturated  not  only  with  the  physical 
effluvia  of  poverty,  but  with  the  moral  taint  of  the  discour- 
aged and  enfeebled,  was  infusing  its  poison  into  his  spirit. 
He  looked  up  vaguely  when  Patricia  entered,  then  a  light 
of  happy  recognition  transformed  him  for  a  moment  into 
a  good-looking  man. 

"  Miss  McCoy !  "  he  said  joyously. 

"  James  Brentwood,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again.  This 
is  my  friend,  Mr.  Carmichael.  He  comes  from  The 
Courier." 

Brentwood  extended  his  hand,  then  made  a  motion  of 
drawing  it  back,  as  if  he  recollected  his  recent  domicile, 
but  Neal  was  too  quick  for  him. 

"  I'm  glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Brentwood." 

The  words,  the  title  seemed  like  an  accolade  to  the  man, 
but  his  glance  was  suspicious,  as  if  he  feared  satire.  Neal's 
look  reassured  him. 

"  And  how  have  you  been,  Miss  McCoy  ?  "  asked  Brent- 
wood. "  You're  lookin'  great." 

"  I  am  very  well,  James.    I  have  just  left  Lily." 

"  Lil ! " 

Again  the  illumination,  the  rising  of  a  flame  in  the  man's 
soul.  Whatever  this  woman  had  been  to  the  mob,  she  was 
to  him  the  separated  woman. 

"  Yes,  she  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Do  you  know  any  trade  ?  "  Neal  interrupted. 

"  House  painting." 

"  We'll  get  you  work." 

Patricia  noted  the  pronoun,  to  her  like  a  strain  of  music 
out  of  the  old  sweet  days  when,  incredible  as  it  seemed, 
she  found  herself  at  Neal's  party  and  they  were  to  be 
playmates.  How  much  more  beautiful  an  association  might 
they  not  have  now  working  in  the  service  of  humanity. 

"  Where  is  Lil  ?  "  Brentwood  asked. 

"  I  won't  tell  you,  James,  unless  you're  going  to  do  the 
right  thing  by  her.  You'll  have  some  real  purpose  in  life 


86  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

if  you  have  Lily  to  look  after.  I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you. 
When  you  get  a  job  I'll  let  you  know  where  she  is,  pro- 
vided you  two  will  get  married." 

"  Give  me  the  chance  once !  " 

"  I  want  the  story,"  Neal  said ;  "  it  may  help  get  him 
work." 

Patricia  looked  doubtful. 

"  But  no  malice,  Jim,  no  wanting  to  be  revenged," 
Patricia  cautioned.  "  Just  a  story  to  help  the  boys  you  left 
behind.  After  all,  you  weren't  a  martyr.  You  had  broken 
a  law." 

"  Sure  thing,"  he  muttered. 

With  her  clear,  pure  face,  her  authoritative  accents,  she 
seemed  to  Neal  a  Portia  of  the  tenements.  Of  what  faith 
was  she  possessed  that  gave  her  this  clear  and  tranquil 
insight?  He  knew  her  to  be  a  devout  Roman  Catholic, 
but  something  more  than  the  creed  of  her  church  was  at 
work  here.  He  wanted  to  see  more  of  her,  talk  with  her 
on  a  hundred  subjects.  He  would  enlist  Ada's  aid  for  Jim; 
perhaps  Ada  would  again  become  friendly  with  Patricia. 

A  covenant  was  forming  between  them.  Patricia  felt  it, 
though  nothing  was  said.  When  they  parted,  she  to  resume 
her  rounds  of  visits  among  the  tenements,  she  walked  with 
winged  feet,  her  thoughts  entirely  with  him,  roseate  thoughts 
like  the  little  vague  clouds  of  a  spring  sunrise.  She  went 
through  her  day,  dreaming  of  this  recovered  friendship; 
and  in  consequence  her  poor  people  found  her,  what  she 
seldom  was,  abstracted,  almost  indifferent. 

She  was  glad  when  at  last  the  ferryboat  started  on  its 
journey  across  the  harbor  and  she  could  give  herself  up 
to  her  thoughts  of  Neal,  which  always  ended  in  an  inter- 
rogation. Was  he  really  sufficiently  divorced  from  his 
family  in  the  big  pillared  house  to  choose  his  own  friends, 
plan  his  own  life?  Was  he  really  democratic  in  his  sym- 
pathies? If  he  was  sincere,  the  logic  of  his  beliefs  might 
lead  him  far — he  might  even  join  his  life  to  that  of  the 
people.  Her  cheeks  began  to  burn  with  an  anticipation 
she  dared  not  put  clearly  before  her. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  87 

Thomas  Murphy,  son  of  the  estimable  family  physician 
to  the  house  of  McCoy,  and  himself  the  owner  of  a  pros- 
perous wrecking  yard  and  much  real  estate,  was  awaiting 
the  five  o'clock  ferryboat  which  often  brought  Patricia  from 
her  labors  among  the  poor.  Thomas  was  proud  of  Patricia. 
No  girl  in  St.  Margaret's  Parish  could  hold  a  candle  to  her 
in  looks,  bearing  and  education.  On  the  other  hand,  not  a 
colleen  under  Father  Carew's  watchful  eye  could  boast  of 
the  devotion  of  a  gentleman  owning  a  wrecking  yard. 

"  Hello,  Pat." 

At  the  sound  of  the  voice  Patricia  started  guiltily.  She 
wished  that  Thomas  wouldn't  haunt  the  ferryboats.  Flush- 
ing with  annoyance,  she  drew  away  as  he  tried  to  link  arms 
with  her. 

"  Tired  ?  You  don't  look  so.  You've  a  fine  color.  How 
has  the  day  gone  ?  " 

"  Splendidly." 

They  walked  along  in  silence.  Thomas  cast  about  in  his 
mind  for  something  of  interest  to  say  to  her. 

"  Old  Alec  Carmichael  got  off  the  boat,"  he  brought  forth 
at  last.  "  He's  brightened  up  considerably  since  his  grand- 
son got  back.  I  don't  believe  he  knows  how  near  to  merry 
smash  the  family  is.  Jack's  trying  to  patch  up  matters, 
but  when  he  makes  something  he  can't  help  spending  it  on 
himself  to  save  his  life." 

Thomas  enjoyed  speaking  familiarly  of  a  member  of  the 
Carmichael  family.  Jack  Carmichael  through  his  sins  had 
come  into  friendly  relations  with  more  sorts  and  conditions 
of  men  than  his  nephew  Neal  seemed  likely  to  do  through 
his  virtues. 

"  I  ain't  blaming  Jack,"  Thomas  continued.  "  He's  no 
snob.  The  rest  are." 

"  Not  Neal ! "  Patricia  would  have  liked  to  answer,  but 
she  did  not  wish  Thomas  to  know  of  their  renewed  ac- 
quaintance. She  inquired  instead  why  the  House  of  Car- 
michael was  in  financial  difficulties. 

"  Jack's  made  ducks  and  drakes  of  the  fortune,"  Thomas 
explained.  "  They're  sailing  close  to  the  wind,  and  if  they 


SS  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

don't  pay  up,  the  house  may  come  under  the  hammer,  unless 
Neal  Carmichael  makes  a  match  with  that  stuck-up  cousin 
of  Peter  Fleming's.  Delia  told  me  he's  mad  for  her." 

Patricia  felt  the  blood  rush  to  her  heart.  Suddenly  she 
was  wide-awake  in  hard,  cold  daylight.  For  five  perilous 
sweet  hours  she  had  been  dreaming  like  a  schoolgirl,  build- 
ing towers  out  of  mist,  transmuting  mere  politeness  into 
romance!  What  inherent  weakness  was  in  her  character, 
that  one  half-hour  with  Neal  Carmichael  should  prove  a  cup 
of  intoxication  to  her? 

She  shivered  like  a  sleeper  awakening.  Thomas  regarded 
her  with  solicitation. 

"  You're  not  working  too  hard  ?  Your  color  goes  as 
quickly  as  it  comes.  You  look  quite  done  up." 

"  The  spring  days  are  trying,"  she  answered. 

"  I  wish  you'd  marry  me,"  Thomas  said  fretfully,  ad- 
dressing not  Patricia  apparently,  but  some  ghost  of  re- 
luctant womanhood  in  general.  "  You  go  on  drudging  when 
you  could  have  everything  by  just  marrying  me." 

To  his  mind  it  was  alluringly  simple.  Patricia  would 
bear  his  children,  and  keep  his  house,  of  course,  but  that  was 
what  women  were  for.  Patricia  was  obeying  neither  the 
laws  of  nature  nor  of  the  church  by  adhering  to  this  stub- 
born, if  seductive,  virginity. 

She  answered  with  an  irritation  foreign  to  her.  "  I've 
told  you  once,  if  I've  told  you  a  dozen  times,  that  I  don't 
want  to  marry  you — for  I  am  not  in  love  with  you." 

"  That's  the  biggest  riddle  of  all — why  you  aren't," 
Thomas  said  gloomily.  He  thought  of  the  wrecking  yard. 

"  Don't  urge  me.    We'll  be  better  friends  if  you  don't." 

"  All  right.  Pat,"  he  said  with  resignation,  adding  as  they 
turned  the  corner,  "  There's  your  mother  watching  for 
you." 

Patricia  waved  her  hand.  Between  her  mother  and  her- 
self existed  the  kind  of  sympathy  often  found  between  a 
mother  and  her  eldest  daughter.  The  bond  had  become 
sisterly. 

Father   Carew  was   on   the   porch   with   Mrs.    McCoy. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  89 

"  What  poor  souls  have  ye  brought  ease  to  to-day,  Pa- 
tricia? "  he  said  in  kindly  greeting;  then  as  he  saw  she  was 
tired  and  resented  the  honest  Thomas,  he  beckoned  him 
to  his  side.  "  I  want  a  bit  of  a  talk  with  you  about  the 
church  funds,  me  lad.  Let's  stroll  homeward." 

Out  of  hearing  of  the  house  the  priest  turned  to  him. 
"  A  man  who  courts  an  unwilling  maid  is  like  a  weather- 
cock on  a  church  spire  pointin'  west  when  the  wind's  east." 

"  That's  all  very  well,  Father  Carew,  but  you  can't  under- 
stand ;  you're  a  priest." 

"  Faith,  that's  why  I  know  so  much,"  was  the  genial 
answer.  "  In  the  theayter  the  audience  knows  more  than 
the  actors.  Cheer  up,  me  boy.  No  woman  with  any  sense 
ever  thought  more  highly  of  a  man  for  his  sighin'.  The 
sight  of  his  heels  is  more  like  to  make  her  wishful." 

Meanwhile  Patricia  had  set  out  upon  a  congenial  errand 
— to  carry  Uncle  Shamus  some  dainty,  and  to  linger  for  a 
little  chat  with  him.  Between  them  there  was  a  tie  which 
the  years  only  made  stronger. 

Finding  the  old  sailor  stumping  up  and  down  one  of  the 
broad  avenues,  she  joined  her  steps  to  his  erratic  walk. 
He  asked  her  how  the  day  had  gone.  Patricia  related  her 
meeting  with  Neal,  conscious  that  Uncle  Shamus's  eye  was 
upon  her,  as  stump,  stump,  his  wooden  leg  hit  the  pave- 
ment, rapping  out  a  kind  of  telegraphic  comment,  not,  she 
felt,  wholly  sympathetic. 

"  He's  coming  to  see  me,"  she  finished. 

"  Oh,  he  is,  is  he !    You'll  be  rale  glad  to  be  friends  again." 

She  blushed. 

He  led  her  to  a  bench,  took  out  his  pipe.  It  was  a  signal 
for  narrative. 

"  I  mind  me  of  a  lass  in  the  old  country,"  he  said,  "  that 
cast  her  blue  eyes  upon  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  an'  was 
nigh  to  illness  for  wearyin'  an'  wishin'  for  him,  maid-like, 
but  niver  a  glance  threw  he  her  way.  But  a  lad  of  her 
own  station  in  this  life,  he  was  followin'  her  footsteps, 
waitin'  to  carry  her  pitcher  from  the  well,  an'  bidin'  in  the 
churchyard  after  Mass;  an'  niver  a  glance  cast  she  his 


90  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

way,  as  the  divil  will  change  the  luck  sometimes,  for  she 
was  tormentin'  herself  that  she  weren't  beautiful  enough 
to  suit  the  noble  Lord.  So  she  begins  a-gaddin'  an'  a-goin' 
to  all  the  wells  in  Ireland  where  maids  mirror  their  faces 
the  better  to  see  their  charms.  But  no  magic  water  helps 
the  lass,  for  niver  a  glance  did  that  proud  Lord  cast  her 
way.  An'  one  night  she  fell  a-weepin'  by  the  wayside. 
Comes  along  the  lad  that  loves  her,  an'  he  grows  white 
as  altar  lace  at  sight  of  her. 

"  '  Mary  O'Hara ! '  he  says.  '  May  God's  Mother  dry 
your  tears!  Why  be  ye  weepin'?" 

"  '  For  that  I  have  no  beauty,  Michael,'  she  made  answer. 

" '  Beauty !  Ye  are  the  most  beautiful  colleen  in  the 
parish.  Was  it  for  that  ye  fared  to  the  magic  wells  ? ' 

"  '  What  kind  of  a  mirror  is  your  mind,  Michael !  The 
Lord  of  the  Manor  never  looks  my  way.' 

"  '  Och !  ye're  no  beauty  to  him ! ' 

"  '  With  that  she  fell  a-cryin'.  '  What  kind  of  beauty  is 
it  that  lives  only  in  your  foolish  head,  Michael  ?  '  she  asked. 

"  '  What  kind  of  beauty  is  it  that  can  abide  elsewhere  than 
in  a  lad's  true  heart  ? '  he  made  answer  to  her.  '  Sure, 
I'll  keep  you  beautiful  till  they  knock  at  me  door  with  the 
candles  an'  God's  oil  for  me  goin',  an'  the  wafer  for  between 
me  teeth  when  me  eyes  is  too  dim  to  see  ye,  an'  after  me 
farin'  I'll  look  at  ye  from  Paradise  an'  ye'll  be  beautiful 
still ! ' 

"  Then  the  lass  she  left  off  cryin'  an'  says  she,  '  I  go  no 
more  a-plodding  to  the  faery- wells.  I'll  look  in  your  heart, 
Michael,  me  lad,  an'  be  forever  beautiful.' " 

Uncle  Shamus  concluded  this  romance  with  much  unc- 
tion. Patricia  sat  very  still,  looking  towards  the  channel 
where  some  boats  were  making  ready  to  go  out  to  sea. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PETER  confided  to  Ada  Neal's  anxiety  over  the  financial 
state  of  his  family  a  piece  of  news  soothing  to  her  pride, 
since  it  explained  in  part  his  hesitant  wooing  of  her.  Went- 
worth's  intermittent  proposals  of  marriage  were  far  less 
to  her  than  Neal's  silence,  to  the  breaking  of  which  she 
applied  all  her  arts.  She  scarcely  knew  why  she  favored 
him  except  that  from  their  childhood  he  had  baffled  her, 
surprising  her  with  some  exhibition  of  power  at  the  very 
moment  she  had  decided  he  was  quite  a  simpleton. 

Yet  Wentworth  had  influence  over  her,  the  peculiar  influ- 
ence of  the  unobservant  male  creature  possessed  by  one  idea. 
Neal's  sensitiveness  made  him  constantly  aware  of  her 
moods,  which  at  times  irritated  her;  but  the  Englishman 
stolidly  pursued  his  purpose  regardless  of  her  coldness, 
her  sarcasm,  her  indifference.  He  was  very  much  in  love 
with  her,  and  he  didn't  expect  to  understand  American 
women,  who  had  a  code  of  romance  all  their  own. 

"  Does  your  '  no '  really  mean  no  ?  "  he  said  to  her  one 
evening.  "  Or  is  it  the  custom  of  the  country  ?  You  see," 
he  added  with  childlike  simplicity,  "  you  are  the  only  Amer- 
ican woman  I  ever  cared  for." 

"  And  your  countrywomen  ?  "  Ada  said  teasingly.  "  Have 
you  discovered  that  they  mean  '  no  '  when  they  say  so  ?  " 

Wentworth  flushed.  "  A  man  makes  love,  of  course,  but 
there  is  a  point " 

"  At  which  he  saves  himself,"  Ada  suggested. 

"  Or  the  girl,  perhaps,"  Wentworth  said  with  a  touch  of 
humor.  "  English  girls  are  too  well  guarded  for  a  man 
to  get  far  unless  he  is  serious.  Here,  there  seems  to  be 
a  kind  of  trying-out  process.  You  make  me  feel  some- 
times like  a  prisoner  at  the  bar." 

91 


92  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Ada  stifled  a  yawn.  "  What  have  you  been  doing  to- 
day?" 

"  Seeing  your  city,  your  Whitechapel.  A  down-and-out 
countryman  of  mine  wrote  me  for  help,  and  I  looked  him 
up.  By  the  way  I  saw  Carmichael  in  that  quarter." 

"  What  had  he  to  say  ?  "  Ada  asked,  brightening. 

"  I  didn't  speak  to  him,  for  he  didn't  see  me.  He  was 
with  a  very  handsome  young  woman.  Looked  like  a  trained 
nurse." 

Ada  mused  upon  this.  Who  could  this  woman  be?  She 
would  find  out  this  evening,  for  Neal  was  coming.  To 
her  relief,  Wentworth  went  away  early.  Neal  encountered 
him  in  the  hall,  and  Ada  overheard  their  curt  exchange  of 
greetings.  Their  mutual  antagonism  was  the  best  proof 
she  had  of  the  sincerity  of  their  emotions. 

"  He's  not  carrying  you  off  to  England  ?  "  Their  eyes 
meeting,  she  read  in  Neal's  something  that  quickened  her 
pulses,  drew  her  from  her  watchfulness  into  a  softer  mood. 
She  had  no  desire  to  jest  with  him  as  she  had  jested  with 
Wentworth.  Neal  for  his  part  longed  to  take  her  in  his 
arms,  to  hold  her  there  subdued  to  his  will,  to  his  love. 
Ada  hadn't  answered  his  question,  but  he  felt  that  her 
heart  drifted  to  him,  not  Wentworth.  Dreamily  content, 
he  gave  himself  up  to  the  influences  of  the  hour  to  which 
he  had  all  day  looked  forward. 

"  Tell  me  about  yourself,"  Ada  said  softly.  "  What  have 
you  been  doing?" 

"  Oh,  it  wasn't  a  bad  day,"  Neal  answered  musingly. 

"  Were  you  down  on  the  East  Side  ?  "  She  watched  him 
attentively. 

"  The  East  Side?    Oh,  yes;  I'm  there  every  day." 

"  Wentworth  saw  you." 

"Did  he?  I  didn't  see  him."  His  mind  suddenly  re- 
verted to  Patricia.  "  Whom  do  you  think  I  met  on  the  East 
Side  ?  Our  old  friend  Patricia  McCoy." 

The  softness  in  Ada's  face  vanished.  Quite  mistress  of 
herself  again,  and  with  a  throb  of  keen  jealousy  in  her 
heart,  she  said,  assuming  indifference,  "  Patricia  ?  How 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  93 

interesting!  She  was  pretty  as  a  child.  Is  she  pretty 
now  ?  " 

"  Beautiful,  I  should  say — even  distinguished." 

All  unconscious  of  the  effect  he  was  producing,  Neal 
launched  into  a  description  of  Patricia's  charms,  while  Ada 
listened  with  something  close  to  pain  in  her  heart.  She 
was  impatient  of  banal  lovers,  and  for  once  she  was  having 
an  original  experience.  Instead  of  a  love-rhapsody  ad- 
dressed to  herself,  this  incomprehensible  suitor  was  dilat- 
ing on  the  charms  of  an  Irish  girl  she  had  thought  safe  in 
oblivion.  Of  course  Patricia  would  make  the  most  of  the 
encounter,  would  claim  Neal  in  the  name  of  their  mutual 
interest  in  social  matters. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her,"  Ada  murmured. 

"  She  is  addressing  a  meeting  to-morrow  of  the  working 
girls  who  are  on  a  strike.  You'd  better  come." 

"  Will  you  take  me?" 

"  Of  course,  if  you  will  let  me  meet  you  in  town.  I 
am  reporting  this  meeting." 

Ada  gave  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction.  She  never  shrank 
from  a  comparison  of  herself  with  other  women,  because  she 
was  so  sure  of  holding  her  own.  She  wanted,  in  addition, 
to  know  with  whom  she  was  dealing,  to  measure  Patricia, 
see  for  herself  if  this  Irish  girl  could  possibly  exercise 
any  feminine  authority  over  Neal.  As  she  remembered  her, 
she  was  too  direct  for  that,  too  idealistic.  Men,  as  a  rule, 
were  not  fascinated  either  by  obviously  good  women  or 
romantic  women. 

Neal  had  forgotten  Patricia.  Ada  could  read  in  his  face 
that  he  was  again  thinking  only  of  her,  for  his  eyes  were 
tender  and  solicitous  as  their  gaze  was  turned  upon  her. 
Noting  his  change  of  mood,  she  sat  very  still,  her  eyelids 
drooping.  In  her  pale  yellow  gown,  she  had  the  appearance 
of  a  spring  flower  whose  chalice  holds  the  light  of  tremu- 
lous dawns. 

A  delight,  half  pain,  stirred  his  senses,  awakened  the 
conqueror  in  him.  He  moved  nearer  to  her,  invited  to 
abandonment  by  her  beauty.  She  made  a  little  gesture, 


94  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

nothing  more  than  the  slow  unclosing  of  her  hand  that 
lay  languidly  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  near  him,  a  deliberate 
opening  until  the  pink  palm  lay  exposed.  Turning  her 
head,  she  gave  him  a  long,  still  look. 

His  senses  caught  fire.  Primitive  passion  was  sweeping 
him  towards  her  with  a  force  he  had  no  will  to  resist.  He 
bent  nearer  to  her;  but  at  that  moment  the  pendant  she 
wore  dropped  to  the  floor,  a  ruby  rimmed  with  diamonds, 
so  suggestive  of  wealth  that  Neal,  stooping  to  pick  it  up,  read 
his  reminder  in  it. 

He  began  to  speak  of  a  trifling  topic,  Ada  listening  with 
a  sense  of  defeat,  a  feeling  as  near  to  mortification  as  she 
had  ever  experienced.  What  was  he  waiting  for?  Could 
it  be  that  Patricia — but  she  brushed  the  idea  aside  as  pre- 
posterous! He  was  probably  measuring  the  material  gulf 
between  them,  would  wait  indeed — supreme  folly! — until 
he  could  bridge  it.  But  he  was  following  the  wrong  road 
for  the  attainment  of  such  an  ambition.  Didn't  he  know, 
didn't  he  realize,  that  if  he  lived  to  be  a  hundred  he  could 
never  grow  rich  following  phantom  problems  of  human 
regeneration  down  the  crowded  streets?  Why  didn't  he 
tell  her  plainly  what  she  already  knew,  that  he  adored  her, 
that  he  wanted  her  more  than  anything  in  the  world  ?  She 
would  wring  that  confession  from  him  despite  all  his 
scruples. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  meeting-hall  was  in  the  congested  quarter  among 
the  homes  of  the  striking  girls.  Neal  and  Ada  found  the 
place  crowded  to  suffocation,  the  assemblage  being  chiefly 
one  of  youth.  Neal,  sweeping  the  audience  with  an  apprais- 
ing eye,  fixed  the  average  age  at  sixteen — a  very  resolute 
sixteen,  a  little  pale  about  the  lips,  and  bright-eyed  from 
deprivation,  but  not  lacking  in  the  graces  of  the  blossom 
time. 

Looking  at  these  girls,  no  one  could  believe  that  many 
of  them  were  hungry.  The  spirit  of  the  strike,  daring, 
earnest  and  intermittently  gay,  carried  them  beyond  the 
thought  of  their  personal  needs.  They  were  chatting,  teas- 
ing each  other,  comparing  notes  of  militancy,  commenting 
shrewdly  on  the  speakers  and  their  clothes. 

Patricia,  in  white  linen,  a  sailor  hat  on  her  dark  hair, 
formed  a  link  between  the  audience  and  the  platform  assem- 
blage, among  whom  were  some  society  women. 

Neal  awaited  her  speech  eagerly.  Though  he  was  not 
aware  of  it,  he  wanted  her  to  justify  herself  and  therefore 
him.  Ada  must  see  what  mental  power  this  girl  of  the 
people  had,  what  innate  refinement,  what  a  poised  outlook  on 
life.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  justification  of  his  friend- 
ship was  precisely  what  would  tell  against  him  most,  with 
a  woman  who  desired  her  own  power  over  him  more  than 
she  desired  anything.  Ada,  indeed,  was  sorry  to  find  that 
Neal's  admiration  of  Patricia  was  so  well  founded,  yet  it 
might  be  only  a  mental  attitude  on  his  part.  She  under- 
stood how  great  a  part  of  him  his  intellectual  curiosities 
were,  how  deep  a  vein  of  altruism  was  hidden  in  his  nature. 
Patricia  might  well  minister  to  that  side  of  him  without 
in  the  least  touching  his  imagination  as  a  man.  But  had  she 
ever  touched  it? 

95 


96  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Despite  her  preoccupation  with  her  own  affairs,  Ada  was 
not  wholly  uninterested  in  these  girls  who  were  defending 
that  ever-moving  shadow  on  the  dial  which  they  called 
their  rights.  Privately  she  thought  their  clearest  right  was 
to  be  loved  and  married.  If  Labor  were  depriving  them  of 
this,  it  was  monstrous,  unendurable — a  Frankenstein  for 
sinister  deflowering  instead  of  a  husband.  If  Labor  were 
depriving  them  of  youth  and  beauty,  of  love  and  children, 
then  the  heavens  should  be  moved  to  help  them — if  Heaven 
ever  did  succor  women,  which  Ada  doubted.  She  had  al- 
ways smiled  cynically  over  the  text,  "  And  the  earth  helped 
the  woman,"  feeling  that  Eve  had  gotten  the  worst  of  it 
on  both  sides  of  the  gates  of  Paradise. 

Neal  felt  the  effect  of  the  audience  upon  himself,  as  a 
deep  but  helpless  pity  for  these  enmeshed  ones  struggling 
in  their  webs  of  poverty — a  state  which  in  its  extreme 
manifestations  had  come  to  seem  to  him  as  unnatural  and 
intolerable  as  disease  and  sin.  These  stories  of  trouble 
were  a  terrible  impeachment  of  someone,  but  of  whom? 
Was  it  the  state ;  was  it  society ;  was  it  the  poor  them- 
selves, was  it  their  eternal  tradition,  as  of  something  inevita- 
ble and  to  be  endured?  Was  it  an  impeachment  of  God 
himself?  Wealth  was  so  understandable,  an  open  secret 
of  the  strong — but  the  weak?  Who  had  started  them 
weak? 

At  last  Patricia  arose  to  speak,  a  tense,  superlatively 
earnest  figure,  whose  first  words  produced  an  instant  hush. 

"  We  are  here,"  she  said,  "  not  to  throw  stones,  but  to 
lay  a  foundation.  The  best  foundation  any  human  being 
can  have  for  his  or  her  work  and  play  and  happiness  is 
health,  physical  and  spiritual.  Any  institution  which  inter- 
feres with  this  first  of  all  human  rights  is  criminal,  and 
must  be  fought  until  it  consents  to  restore  that  founda- 
tion which  it  has  undermined." 

She  went  on  to  speak  of  the  abuses  of  certain  factories, 
and  what  illnesses  had  come  under  her  observation  as 
the  direct  result  of  these  abuses.  She  spoke  without  rancor ; 
for  a  sure  possession  of  facts  is,  in  itself,  a  poison  tip,  and 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  97 

she  used  her  imagination  only  to  make  her  subject  very 
clear.  Neal  felt  a  thrill  of  pride  as  he  listened  to  her  strong, 
forcible  descriptions,  her  pleas,  not  for  a  class,  but  for  a 
principle. 

Ada  never  took  her  eyes  from  Patricia,  photographing 
her,  but  not  using  an  artist's  privilege  to  put  away  in  her 
heart  Patricia's  true  portrait — that  image  of  a  soul  warm 
for  its  kind  and  hating  injustice.  Perhaps  the  portrait 
must  have  included  Patricia's  pride,  for  that,  too,  was 
glowing  in  her  eyes — pride  that  Neal  Carmichael  was  in 
the  audience  listening  to  her,  and  that  he  was  her  friend 
and  they  should  be  together  after  the  meeting.  She  was 
already  drifting  towards  beatitude,  yielding  to  a  current 
whose  direction  she  only  half  realized. 

Applause  surged  up  to  her  as  she  sat  down,  intermingled 
with  personal  cries  of  admiration  from  friends  in  the  audi- 
ence, "  Good  for  you,  Pat !  "  "  You  are  a  winner,  Pat !  " 
"  You're  there  with  the  goods,  Pat !  "  Some  of  these  girls 
owed  their  life  to  her  and  they  did  not  forget  it. 

At  the  close  of  the  meeting  Neal  and  Ada  went  up  to  the 
platform  where  Patricia  was  found  in  conversation  with  a 
group  of  society  leaders — women  who  seemed  to  know 
Ada  well  and  who  seemed  slightly  amused  at  meeting  her 
under  such  circumstances. 

"  What  brought  you  here  ?  "  one  of  them  asked,  with  a 
glance  towards  Neal,  already  known  as  a  social  idealist. 
"  Are  you  going  to  give  the  ball  a  toss,  too  ?  " 

"  I  am  here  to  meet  Miss  McCoy,"  Ada  gave  back,  "  if 
she  can  spare  me  a  minute." 

Her  voice  was  cordial,  but  her  eyes,  level  and  incredulous, 
held  no  warmth  as  she  extended  her  hand  to  Patricia,  whose 
manner  changed  instantly.  She  had  been  talking  with  all 
the  unconsciousness  of  enthusiasm  to  these  representatives 
of  Ada's  world,  because  she  believed  they  were  really  inter- 
ested; but  Ada — Patricia  detected  a  curiosity  not  wholly 
friendly — was  an  echo  out  of  a  long-ago  childish  adventure 
which  had  ended  in  unhappiness.  She  felt  an  unreasonable 
impulse  to  refuse  the  proffered  hand,  as  years  before  Ada 


98  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

had  refused  hers.  It  was  with  an  effort  that  Patricia 
smiled  her  greetings.  The  two  women  measured  each  other, 
flashing  one  of  those  glances  by  which  the  depths  of 
femininity  are  revealed.  Patricia  felt  a  certain  confidence 
born  of  her  own  attainments.  She  had  appreciably  dimin- 
ished the  distance  between  herself  and  this  fair,  cold  woman, 
so  far  as  individual  achievement  was  in  the  question ;  but 
no  one  knew  better  than  Patricia  that  certain  barriers  could 
never  be  bridged.  This  betraying  knowledge  was  less  hers 
than  Ada's  creation. 

Ada  was  now  talking  softly  and  intelligently  of  rough 
problems.  "  There's  a  great  chance  for  the  three  of  us !  " 
Neal  put  in,  more  glad  than  he  knew  that  an  old  combination 
of  elements  was  again  effected.  If  Ada  and  Patricia  became 
friends,  what  might  not  Patricia  do  towards  inspiring  Ada 
with  interest  in  social  problems,  leading  her  from  a  beautiful 
but  narrow  world  into  the  bracing  illimitability  of  brother- 
hood. 

"  What  chance  ?  "  Ada  said,  with  her  little  skeptical  smile. 

"  Oh,  a  chance  to  be  Rosicrucians  again — form  a  society 
for  work  and  play.  It  wouldn't  end  in  merry  smash  this 
time." 

"  How  is  your  uncle,  Miss  McCoy  ? "  Ada  inquired, 
"  your  uncle  in  the  Mariner's  Rest  ?  Wasn't  that  where  our 
so  short-lived  society  was  founded  ?  " 

Patricia  flushed  a  little,  but  Neal's  eyes  fixed  upon  her 
were  so  full  of  kindness  that  she  answered  him,  not  Ada, 
when  she  said :  "  He's  wonderful !  As  full  of  tales  as  ever. 
He'd  like  to  see  you  again  some  day,"  she  added,  directly 
addressing  Neal.  "  Visitors  mean  so  much  to  him." 

"  We  must  go  there  some  afternoon,"  he  replied. 

Ada  weighed  the  little  personal  pronoun  which  long  ago 
she  had  refused  tacitly  as  a  shelter  of  three  destinies.  But 
there  were  other  combinations  it  could  cover,  as  Patricia 
must  know.  Turning  to  Neal,  she  said  casually :  "  By  the 
way,  Peter  wants  to  know  if  he  can  count  on  you  for  his 
house-party—Mrs.  Guthrie  has  accepted  for  Polly." 

Neal  looked  troubled,  recollecting  a  conversation  he  had 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  99 

had  with  his  cousin  that  morning,  in  which  she  had  hinted 
at  storms,  conflicts  between  her  mother's  will  and  her  own. 
She  was  already  committed  to  great  adventures ;  predestined 
to  all  the  hardships  of  real  love.  Neal,  responding  to  her 
hopes,  felt  already  the  traitor  to  Ada,  Peter's  sworn  assistant 
in  his  romantic  enterprise. 

"  He  can  count  on  me !    I'll  break  away  somehow." 

"  We  are  to  be  veryvgrand  down  at  Peter's  farm,  a  farm 
by  the  sea,"  she  explained  parenthetically  to  Patricia. 
"  Peter  has  secured  a  wandering  title  out  of  France,  a  rela- 
tive of  the  Comte  de  Lafayette,  I  believe ;  and  there's  a  hint 
of  a  prize  from  Newport,  another  foreigner." 

She  spoke  lightly,  not  glancing  at  Patricia  this  time,  but 
drawing  Neal's  eyes  to  her  own  in  a  community  of  under- 
standing, as  to  what  might  be  expected  at  these  house- 
parties  where  a  man  as  knowing  as  Peter  was  host.  Ada's 
voice  held  always  a  kind  of  magic  when  speaking  of  herself 
or  her  circle,  an  intonation  bestowing  special  privileges, 
awakening  the  imagination  to  the  esthetic  value  of  a  world 
removed  from  struggle.  Patricia  felt  as  if  a  door  had  been 
closed  in  her  face,  not  harshly,  but  with  the  gentle  finality 
of  those  whose  seclusions  are  automatic — a  matter  less  of 
will  than  of  circumstances. 

But  she  was  learning  to  act  a  part,  and  on  the  crest  of 
some  light  reference  to  the  day's  good  fortune  in  pro- 
ducing this  reunion,  she  left  them,  ostensibly  to  go  to  the 
settlement  house ;  but  the  crowded  East  Side  streets  seemed 
suddenly  intolerable  to  her,  her  mission  emptied  of  directing 
light.  She  did  not  realize  that  she  was  envying,  not  Ada's 
world,  but  Ada's  power  to  step  from  one  world  into  another, 
just  as  Neal  Carmichael  did.  It  hurt  her  to  scorn  him 
ever  so  little,  yet  for  a  moment  she  wondered  if  his  "  love 
of  the  people  "  could  be  submitted  to  any  real  tests.  Was 
there  not  always  an  amateurish  element  in  the  social  labors 
of  those  who  at  any  moment  could  leave  disorder  for  the 
ministrations  of  their  butler  or  their  valet  ?  The  world  Neal 
really  valued  was  the  one  to  which  he  retired  at  the  end 
of  the  day. 


ioo  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Instead  of  going  to  the  settlement  she  went  home,  deter- 
mined to  put  her  restored  acquaintances  from  the  aris- 
tocracy out  of  her  mind,  to  go  back  to  her  own  place,  her 
own  people.  The  big  shabby  house  near  the  docks  was 
after  all  her  real  setting;  the  easy,  informal  life,  with  its 
occasional  rough  edges,  was  the  real  material  upon  which 
she  had  to  work.  Yet  she  loved  beauty,  and  the  kind  of 
order  wealth  could  command.  She  sighed  a  little  as  she 
beheld  her  father  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  tilting  back  his  chair 
on  the  porch  in  an  abandonment  of  comfort  before  supper 
and  another  excursion  with  the  Mary  McCoy. 

"  Hello,  Pat,"  he  said  heartily  as  she  came  up  the  walk. 
"  How  did  your  meeting  go  ?  Are  those  poor  girls  goin'  to 
win  out  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  listlessly.  "  Perhaps — if  enough 
money  conies  in  to  keep  them  from  starving  while  they 
wait." 

"  I  heard  Miss  Fleming  was  there." 

"  Who  told  you  ?  "  Patricia  said,  changing  color. 

"  Father  Carew.  You're  gettin'  on,  Pat — when  those  on 
the  hill  run  to  meetings  to  hear  you  speak." 

"  Mr.  Carmichael  was  there,  too,"  she  said.  Wild-rose 
color  bloomed  on  her  cheeks  now — a  riot  of  it.  The  ex- 
cellent Thomas  Murphy  had  never  produced  such  beauty  in 
her.  McCoy  took  a  long  puff  at  his  pipe,  and  questioned 
warily,  "  What  was  he  doin'  there — just  listening?  " 

II  No,  reporting.    He— he  was  with  Miss  Fleming." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  match.  She  has  money  enough  for 
both." 

Patricia  was  silent.  How  everything  hurt  her  to-day— 
everyone's  lightest  word ! 

"  Eh  ?  "  her  father  interrogated. 

"  I  suppose  so.    Where's  Mother?  " 

"Can't  you  smell  fried  potatoes,  and  coffee,  and  ham?" 
McCoy  said,  grinning.  "  I  guess  supper's  nearly  ready." 

"  I'll  go  in  and  help  her." 

She  found  her  mother  in  her  own  particular  domain — the 
big  roomy  kitchen,  where  she  reigned  supreme  over  cooking 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  101 

and  over  children.  As  far  as  Patricia's  memoiy  served 
her,  this  sweet-humored  mother,  perpetually  dealing  with 
the  little  indoor  affairs  of  existence,  had  devoted  her  life 
to  child-bearing  and  rearing,  and  the  omnipotent  kitchen 
range  from  whose  sultry  premises  came  the  inspiration  which 
sent  McCoy  rejoicing  to  his  labors  on  the  tug,  and  lured  him 
home  again,  primitive  man  in  his  desire  to  feast  and  bask. 
Patricia  sometimes  wondered  how  her  mother  could  bear 
the  perpetual  monotony  of  this  tale,  which  for  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  days  in  the  year  had  no  more  dramatic  sequel 
than  James  McCoy's  pipe  and  sigh  of  repletion.  Then  there 
were  always  babies,  sturdy  and  strong,  to  be  sure,  but  for 
that  very  reason  leading  their  elders  a  lively  dance. 

Mrs.  McCoy,  an  egg-beater  in  her  hand,  smiled  at  her 
daughter  through  the  fumes  of  the  kitchen. 

"  I  am  glad  you  had  the  sense  to  come  home  early,  Pat, 
dear.  Tom's  been  here  askin'  about  your  evening.  You'd 
better  telephone  him  you'll  be  home." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  him,"  Patricia  said  perversely,  taking 
the  egg-beater  and  bowl  from  her  mother's  hands.  "  He 
bores  me,  Mother." 

Mrs.  McCoy  looked  at  her  keenly.  "  If  he  bores  you  it's 
a  good  sign  you  can  rely  on  him,"  she  said  tersely. 

Patricia  looked  surprised.  It  was  not  the  habit  of  Mrs. 
McCoy  to  indulge  in  epigram.  She  was  too  much  alive  for 
such  follies,  but  Patricia's  mind  was  already  drifting  off 
to  a  person  upon  whom  she  wasn't  at  all  sure  that  she  could 
rely. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

RETURNING  home  late  on  the  evening  after  the  meeting 
which  had  brought  Ada  and  Patricia  together,  Neal  found 
agitation  in  the  air,  that  electric  tenseness  which  precedes 
a  storm.  Hearing  the  click  of  balls  in  the  billiard-room, 
he  went  there  and  found  Jack  deep  in  a  game  with  the 
coachman's  son,  summoned  to  relieve  an  idle  hour.  Behold- 
ing his  nephew,  Jack  put  up  his  cue  as  if  reminded  of  a 
more  important  matter.  When  they  were  alone,  he  an- 
nounced succinctly,  "  Maria  is  losing  her  senses." 

"What's  the  trouble?" 

"  Peter  Fleming's  house-party.  Polly  doesn't  want  to 
go;  and  Maria,  to  retaliate,  forbids  her  to  see  this  young 
man,  Sidney,  again,  which  is,  of  course,  almost  an  infallible 
prescription  for  a  wedding !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  reason  with  Maria  ? "  Neal  inquired. 
"  You  have  more  influence  over  her  than  anyone." 

"  I'd  rather  give  her  bromide,"  Jack  answered.  "  I  can't 
mix  up  in  this,  for  the  Market  is  behaving  like  the  deuce. 
I  want  a  clear  head — calm  feelings." 

"  I'll  talk  to  her,"  Neal  said,  with  the  confidence  of  youth. 

Halfway  up  the  stairs  in  pursuit  of  this  mission,  he 
heard  Jack  whistle  softly  in  the  hall,  and  turned.  His 
uncle  wagged  his  hand  warningly. 

"  Oil  and  frankincense,  gallant  one.  Family  rows  are  the 
deuce."  Delia  admitted  him  to  the  sanctuary  of  a  frustrated 
mother.  Maria,  looking  pale  and  heavy-eyed,  in  a  black 
dressing-gown,  reclined  on  a  couch,  sniffing  salts. 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  can  go  elsewhere  with  your  warn- 
ings," she  answered  Neal's  protests.  "  There  was  but  one 
course  for  me  to  take,  and  I  took  it." 

Polly  will  care  for  him  all  the  more  if  you  oppose  her," 
Neal  ventured. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  103 

"  Oppose  her !  Must  I  let  her  ride  roughshod  over  me 
— and  she  not  yet  nineteen!  She  doesn't  know  what  she's 
doing  in  throwing  Peter  over !  " 

"  But  if  she  doesn't  love  him." 

"  Nonsense !  Look  at  the  people  one  knows — divorced, 
separated,  love  matches,  all  of  them!  This  Sidney  is — 
no  one  at  all — a  Methodist  minister's  son,"  she  added  fret- 
fully. 

"  The  name's  good  enough,"  Neal  commented.  "  There 
was  once  a  Sir  Philip 

"  Don't  be  satirical,  Neal ;  I  have  a  splitting  headache. 
I  am  afraid  you  have  no  family  pride." 

Neal  offered  no  defense  to  this  impeachment,  not  being 
wholly  sure  what  family  pride  was ;  but  he  knew  what  it 
was  to  want  someone,  and  his  sympathies  were  with  his  little 
cousin. 

"  Polly's  fond  of  you ;  I  wish  you'd  talk  to  her,"  Maria 
said  plaintively. 

"If  you  mean  you  want  me  to  urge  her  to  marry  Peter, 
I  can't  do  it.  I  can  ask  her  to  be  reasonable.  Shall  I  talk 
to  her  now  ?  " 

Maria  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  waving  a  hand 
feebly,  as  if  to  signify  he  could  do  as  he  liked.  Delia 
ushered  him  into  Polly's  bedroom,  a  place  of  faded  chintzes, 
smelling  of  sweet-brier.  Polly  herself  was  seated  at  her 
desk,  with  her  long  hair  hanging  over  her  shoulders,  her 
eyes  red  as  if  she  had  been  crying. 

"  Little  cousin,"  he  began,  "  you  can't  set  a  family  by 
the  ears " 

"  You  want  me  to  marry  Peter  Fleming,"  she  accused 
him,  "  when  I  don't  care  for  him ! " 

"  No,  beloved,  I  don't.  I  don't  want  you  to  marry  any- 
body until  you're  sure." 

A  soft  flush  suffused  her.  Their  eyes  met  in  sympathetic 
understanding. 

"  Will  you  do  something  for  me,  Cousin  Neal  ?  " 

"  Whatever  I  can,  Polly." 

"  Let  William  Sidney  call  and  see  you  at  the  office." 


io4  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  Certainly,  he  can  call." 

"  You'll  be  nice  to  him." 

"  Nice  to  a  friend  of  yours  ?  I  should  think  so !  But, 
Polly,  you'd  better  give  in  and  go  to  Peter's  house-party." 

She  pondered  a  moment.  "  I'll  make  a  bargain  with 
Mother.  I'll  go  to  Peter's  party  if  she'll  let  me  see  William 
sometimes." 

He  left  her,  feeling  himself  only  half-satisfied.  How 
could  she  strike  a  bargain  with  inflexibility ! 

William  Sidney  called  upon  Neal  at  the  office  of  The 
Courier  a  few  days  after  the  house-party,  whose  sequel 
had  been  a  disappointment  both  to  Mrs.  Guthrie  and  Peter. 
The  little  Sidney  said  was  straight  to  the  point,  the  goal 
to  which  all  his  perspective  ran.  He  was  engaged  to  Polly 
— that  central  fact  could  not  be  gainsaid  or  put  aside. 
They  would  marry  because  it  was  inevitable;  but  he  was, 
of  course,  willing  to  wait  until  he  could  assure  the  Car- 
michael  family  that  Polly  would  be  well  provided  for,  and 
he  had  expressed  this  willingness  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Guthrie 
just  posted,  which  also  signified  his  intention  of  calling 
upon  Polly's  mother  the  next  day. 

Neal  listened  with  some  apprehension  to  this  simple  pro- 
gramme, conceived  out  of  a  young  man's  invincible  ignorance 
of  the  true  conditions.  Did  he  not  realize  that  he  was 
taking  up  arms  against  the  power  and  dignity  of  a  family 
very  much  used  to  having  its  own  way?  But  Neal  prof- 
fered neither  advice  nor  warning,  partly  because  they  are 
fuel  to  the  ardor  of  lovers,  partly  because  he  realized  that 
the  authority  of  destiny  rather  than  William  Sidney  was 
speaking.  He  doubted  if  this  young  man  had  the  slightest 
realization  how  deep  ran  the  current  of  Mrs.  Guthrie's 
ambitions,  the  reason  of  them  being  now  all  too  plain. 

When  he  returned  home  on  the  evening  of  the  day  chosen 
by  young  Sidney  to  put  his  fortunes  to  the  test,  Neal  found 
his  grandfather  reading  in  the  library,  and  looking  fatigued, 
abstracted  and  somewhat  stern,  as  if  he  had  intrenched 
himself  where  the  sound  of  youthful  pleading  could  not 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  105 

reach  him.  The  head  of  the  house  read  interrogation  in 
his  grandson's  face,  and  braced  himself  for  another  judg- 
ment of  adolescence.  Secretly  he  was  proud  that  his  two 
grandchildren  had  independent  wills,  so  long  as  these  wills 
only  threatened  and  did  not  act. 

"  Well,  how  did  your  day  go,  Neal  ? "  he  asked  with  an 
assumption  of  carelessness. 

"As  usual.    Yours?" 

"  Some  trouble  about  Polly's  foolish  little  love  affair. 
It's  over — it's  quite  over." 

"  What's  over?    The  trouble  or  the  affair?  " 

"  Both,  thank  God !  Now,  don't  look  alarmed.  Maria 
is  a  woman  of  sense." 

Precisely  what  his  daughter  had  done  Mr.  Carmichael 
seemed  reluctant  to  disclose,  so  Neal  concluded  to  get  the 
facts  from  Delia,  the  fiercely  faithful  Delia,  with  her  humor- 
ous understanding  of  the  foibles  of  the  family  she  served. 

A  little  before  noon  the  next  day  an  office  boy  approached 
Neal  with  the  intelligence  that  a  young  lady  wished  to  see 
him.  She  was  waiting  outside  in  the  corridor. 

She  proved  to  be  Polly,  a  Polly  he  had  never  known, 
for  her  first  announcement  took  away  his  breath.  "  I've 
come  to  tell  you,  dear,  that  I  am  to  be  married  in  an 
hour." 

Her  color  grew  riotous  as  she  spoke,  but  her  manner  was 
calm  and  mature.  She  had  become  a  woman  overnight — 
sure  of  what  she  wanted  and  determined  to  take  it. 

Neal  stared,  and  ejaculated,  "  You  don't  expect  me  to 
believe  that ! " 

"  We  have  the  license,"  she  replied.  "  William  is  joining 
me  here  in  ten  minutes.  He  is  buying  me  flowers." 

"  But  you've  run  away !  "  Neal  said  helplessly. 

"  There  was  nothing  else  to  do.  Mother  deceived  me. 
She  had  given  her  solemn  promise  that  I  could  go  on  seeing 
William  if  I  went  to  Peter's  house-party.  Then  the  first 
time  William  comes,  she  has  the  door  shut  in  his  face. 
Graham,  the  coward,  told  the  poor  boy  I  was  not  at  home." 


106  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

She  spoke  quietly,  without  anger,  as  if  already  her  life 
in  the  old  Carmichael  house  had  retreated  to  an  incredible 
distance. 

"  Of  course,"  she  concluded,  "  that  ended  it.  I  can't  deal 
with  unfair  people,  even  if  they  are  my  own  blood.  We 
are  to  be  married  in  old  St.  Stephen's  at  half-past  twelve. 
I  wrote  William  last  night,  and  he  met  me  this  morning." 

"  But,  Polly,  your  mother !  "  Neal  stammered.  "  You 
must  give  her  a  chance — and  grandfather !  " 

"  To  take  me  home  after  a  scene — no !  " 

Neal  considered  a  moment,  trying  to  gain  time,  to  think 
of  some  telling  argument. 

"  But,  Polly,  can  William  support  you  ?  " 

"  We'll  take  a  small  flat.    I  shall  do  my  own  work." 

"  But  you  have  no  furniture." 

"  William  has  something  put  by.  We  intend  to  be  very 
careful.  We  are  so  happy  we  can  do  anything." 

This  last  statement  was  proof  against  even  the  logic  of 
an  Aristotle.  Polly  looked  an  image  of  faith,  a  woman 
prepared  hurriedly,  but  surely,  for  whatever  destiny  might 
flow  from  this  union. 

"  Will  you  wait  here  for  me  a  few  moments,  Polly  ?  " 

She  looked  imploringly  at  him. 

"  You  wouldn't  trick  me,  Neal  ?  You  know  I  trust  you, 
or  I  shouldn't  be  here." 

"  You  are  safe  with  me,  dear ;  but  do  you  mind  if  I  call 
up  Jack  and  Philip  and  ask  them  to  come  here  without 
telling  them  why  ?  " 

Polly  considered  a  moment.  "Uncle  Jack  would  never 
stand  in  my  way,  and  Uncle  Philip — is  fond  of  me.  Do  they 
both  know  what  Mother  did  ?  " 

"  I  told  them  last  night." 

"  Poor  Mother !  "  Polly  said,  but  her  pity  indicated  no 
surrender.  She  also  was  a  woman. 

Neal  left  her.  He  was  amazed,  dazzled  by  Polly's  be- 
havior, which  seemed  beyond  either  his  approval  or  dis- 
approval. Children  grew  up,  it  seemed,  and  unless  parents 
had  acted  with  wisdom  equal  to  their  love  they  were  left 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  107 

behind  to  mouth  their  bitter  recollections  and  to  prate 
of  ingratitude. 

Before  he  telephoned,  Neal  asked  a  minute  with  Charles 
Divine  and  related  what  was  going  forward. 

"  Are  you  going  to  church  with  Polly  ?  "  Divine  asked. 

"  If  she  goes  I  go  with  her.  There'll  be  the  devil  of  a 
family  row  afterwards." 

"  A  row,  more  or  less,  is  hardly  to  be  avoided  when 
people  are  not  playing  fair,"  Divine  commented. 

Neal  summoned  his  uncles,  and  returned  to  Polly,  who 
now  was  not  alone.  William  Sidney  had  joined  her.  She 
wore  his  violets.  The  young  man  looked  serious,  but  deeply 
satisfied.  He  addressed  Neal.  "  Polly  has  explained.  We 
think  it  best.  I  was  willing  to  wait — but  yesterday " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  Neal  interrupted.  "  That  shouldn't  have 
happened.  I've  sent  for  her  uncles.  I  think  myself  you  are 
acting  too  hastily,  but " 

"  There's  no  other  way,"  Polly  finished. 

Tense  and  happy,  the  two  stood  side  by  side,  looking 
already  far  into  their  new  life,  feeling  already  the  thrill 
of  the  union  that  should  place  them  in  society  as  an  inde- 
pendent family.  Neal  thought  of  Ada,  and  wished  that  he 
and  she  could  as  blithely  step  into  bliss.  This  boy  who  did 
not  know  he  was  poor  had  many  advantages  over  one  pos- 
sessed of  that  chill  knowledge. 

Neal  looked  at  his  watch.  Philip  and  Jack  must  soon 
arrive.  What  would  they  do?  Jack  would  splutter  a  bit, 
perhaps,  but  would  quickly  get  to  the  wedding  champagne. 
Philip  might  quote  Horace's  wistful  lines: 

"Life   is   short, 
Too  short  e'en  to  begin  hopes  long  and  fair." 

They  arrived  within  a  minute  of  each  other.  Neal,  posted 
at  the  elevator  to  break  the  news  before  the  chief  actors 
were  introduced,  had  Philip  first  to  deal  with.  That  gen- 
tleman, wrenched  from  a  lecture  on  the  lost  Greek  drama- 
tists, was  scarcely  prepared  to  deal  with  a  modern  comedy. 
He  looked  bewildered,  then  despairing,  asked  if  Divine  had 


io8  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

been  told,  seeing  that  events  were  transpiring  on  the  very 
threshold  of  The  Courier. 

"  Maria  wasn't  wise,"  Philip  added.  "  But  shouldn't  we 
telephone  Father  ?  " 

"  What  mortal  good  would  it  do  ?  The  hour's  fixed. 
They'll  be  married  before  we  could  get  there.  Maria's  at 
a  large  lunch-party,  enjoying,  I  hope,  good  digestion  after 
yesterday's  work.  Here's  Jack." 

Jack  "  by-Joved,"  and  "  blessed  his  soul,"  and  called  on 
heaven  to  witness  that  his  niece  was  a  girl  of  spirit.  He, 
too,  went  feebly  through  the  stage  of  telephoning  the  august 
head  of  the  house,  but  soon  abandoned  the  idea  as  likely 
to  lead  to  a  family  row,  in  the  very  home  and  haunt  of 
newspapers  greedy  for  headlines.  He  got  quickly  to  the 
champagne  stage,  as  Neal  had  expected.  No,  he  wouldn't 
go  to  church  with  Polly.  He  hated  weddings,  symbols 
of  romance  ended  and  bills  begun,  but  he  would,  oh,  he 
would  go  to  Reynolds,  secure  a  table,  flowers,  and  his  pet 
waiter.  Would  Philip  go  to  church  with  Polly?  Philip 
looked  pained.  He  preferred  to  stay  out  of  it,  but  he  ex- 
tracted from  his  pocket  fifty  dollars  intended  for  a  new 
suit. 

"  She  hasn't  a  cent,  of  course,"  he  said.  "  She  mustn't 
be  without  money  on  her  wedding-trip." 

Then  the  uncles  shook  hands  with  Polly  and  William; 
Philip  sadly,  for  the  hornet's  nest  about  to  be  opened  af- 
frighted his  gentle  soul. 

"They're  not  going  with  me?"  Polly  inquired. 

"  No,  dear,"  Neal  replied. 

William  looked  at  his  watch.  "  It's  twenty-five  after, 
Polly." 

They  started  for  the  elevator.  Neal  suddenly  halted. 
"  Polly,  won't  you  reconsider,  give  them  a  chance  to " 

"  Don't  make  it  hard  for  me,  Cousin  Neal.  You  know 
I  can't." 

He  went  with  her  then.  They  hailed  a  taxi-cab,  and 
Polly's  bags  were  placed  upon  it.  They  were  driven 
through  a  network  of  business  streets  to  the  ancient  and 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  109 

well-nigh  forgotten  church  of  St.  Stephen,  selected  by  Polly 
because  she  had  been  there  once  on  a  historical  tour  of 
the  city  and  had  been  impressed  by  its  loneliness  and  old- 
time  grandeur.  Despite  the  bright  May  weather,  it  was 
cold  as  a  vault  and  almost  as  gloomy.  The  curate,  in  a 
cassock  but  not  yet  surpliced,  was  awaiting  their  arrival. 
He  seemed  relieved  at  sight  of  Neal,  for  the  glorious  young 
people  who  had  sought  him  in  such  haste  that  morning 
bore  about  them  the  adventurous  atmosphere  of  runaways. 
Polly  requested  him  to  put  her  violets  on  the  altar,  and, 
obeying  her,  with  saintly  wonder  at  her  glowing  beauty, 
the  curate  of  his  own  accord  lit  two  high  candles  that 
revealed  little  but  the  penitential  flowers  at  their  base. 
Then  he  went  to  robe,  and  Polly  fell  a-trembling,  and  her 
color  left  her.  Neal,  taking  her  hand,  found  it  cold. 

The  curate  returned,  the  service  began  with  its  vowing 
and  its  superhuman  promises,  its  solemn  ignoring  of  all 
human  frailties.  The  two  forms  knelt  tremblingly,  swayed 
to  each  other,  answered  brokenly,  invoked  the  Trinity  with 
voices  grown  weak  and  child-like,  then  rose  man  and  wife, 
Polly  flower-white,  her  husband  adoring.  The  curate 
blessed  them,  shook  their  hands,  gave  Polly  her  violets.  Her 
husband  leaned  to  kiss  her.  Neal  kissed  her  hands. 

They  went  to  the  vestry  and  signed  the  register,  then 
Polly  walked  down  the  aisle  between  the  empty  pews.  She 
paused  at  the  door  to  look  back  at  the  two  candles  above 
the  silent  altar,  still  shining  in  the  dimness.  The  hush  of 
the  mystic  rite  was  so  soon  over. 

The  cab  carried  them  swiftly  to  Reynolds'.  Jack,  in 
his  element  where  eating  and  drinking  were  concerned,  had 
done  wonders  in  the  short  time  allotted  to  him.  Polly  was 
conducted  by  a  little  regiment  of  waiters  to  a  table  sweet 
with  orange-blossoms.  Secular  candles  with  white  shades 
glowed  on  extravagant  linen  and  silver.  It  was  to  be  the 
child's  last  taste  of  such  grandeur,  but  a  cup  of  water 
shared  with  William  would  have  been  as  wine  to  her.  She 
scarcely  knew  what  she  ate.  Jack  was  to  be  chief  appreci- 
ator  of  his  own  ingenuity,  for  Neal  had  fallen  a-dreaming 


no  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

too,  being  stationed  nowhere  but  at  Ada's  feet.  Ah,  mar- 
riage should  be  in  the  name  of  the  Father  and  of  the  Son 
and  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  since  the  mystic  Trinity  imaged  in 
heaven  the  blessedest  three  on  earth, — a  happy  father  and 
mother  and  their  child.  Each  new  marriage  was  an  effort 
to  claim  heaven  and  starry  privileges.  Polly's  eyes  at  least 
said  so. 

Neal  hurried  her  departure  when  he  found  that  the  cham- 
pagne had  become  of  more  importance  to  Jack  than  the 
little  bride.  Her  husband,  understanding  Neal's  signals, 
spoke  of  trains.  They  were  to  go  to  a  farm  known  to 
William's  parents.  Polly  thanked  her  uncle,  who  was  grow- 
ing jocular,  and  who,  Neal  feared,  might  jest  concerning 
the  torch  of  Hymen.  But  Jack  loved  innocence  and  limited 
his  humor  to  his  own  forlorn  and  dreary  state  of  crushed 
ideals,  and  the  possession  of  a  maltreated  heart.  Another 
glass  and  he  would  begin  to  cry.  A  fat  man  crying  is  no 
accompaniment  of  a  romantic  banquet,  so  Neal  ended  it. 

The  waiters  swept  the  table  of  its  blossoms  and  gave 
them  to  Polly.  Her  husband  and  her  cousin  escorted  her 
to  the  taxi-cab.  Neal  put  his  head  in  the  window  for  a 
farewell  look  at  her.  She  was  crying  a  little  now  and 
petting  her  blossoms.  Neal  withdrew  abruptly  and  gave 
the  order  to  the  chauffeur. 

He  had  promised  Jack  to  return,  but  he  was  in  no  mood 
for  the  sentimentality  that  lurks  in  champagne.  He  sent 
a  message  in  by  a  page,  then  started  on  the  next  important 
errand,  to  insert  in  The  Courier  and  some  other  papers  the 
notice  of  the  marriage  of  Margaret  Carmichael  Guthrie  to 
William  Sidney. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THERE  are  many  kinds  of  courage,  but  the  intensity  of 
that  emotion  is  not  always  in  true  proportion  to  the  event 
requiring  it.  As  the  ferry  bearing  Neal  homeward  made 
its  slip  he  felt  that  an  announcement  of  war  requiring  his 
presence  at  the  front  would  have  been  most  welcome.  He 
had  telephoned  Caecilia,  and  she  had  died  away  from  the 
telephone,  to  be  replaced  by  a  husband  voicing  vicarious 
family  alarm.  Neal  hoped  that  Csecilia  would  telephone 
Maria,  or  that  Jack  would  go  babbling  home  in  a  golden 
haze,  or  that  Philip  would  make  in  Maria's  presence  some 
classic  allusion  to  Niobe  all  tears,  and  so  intervene  between 
himself,  Neal,  and  a  family  in  the  first  bitterness  of  its 
surprise. 

But  Neal  did  not  belong  to  the  class  of  the  lucky,  Provi- 
dence intending  him,  for  his  soul's  good,  to  know  every 
link  between  cause  and  effect.  He  descended  upon  an  unin- 
formed but  agitated  household,  for  Maria  had  returned 
from  the  world  of  fashion  to  find  that  Polly  had  been  absent 
for  hours.  Mrs.  Guthrie  was  crossing  the  hall  when  Neal 
entered,  and  she  bore  down  upon  him,  a  tall,  maternal  mark 
of  interrogation,  her  youthful  hat  a  little  to  one  side,  her 
face  puffed  from  the  day's  pleasure,  but  showing  signs  of 
agitation. 

"  Neal,"  she  said  shrilly,  as  if  through  some  divination 
she  at  once  suspected  him,  "  where's  Polly  ?  " 

Glancing  up  the  staircase,  Neal  beheld  a  back  most  ex- 
pressive in  its  resolution  to  leave  him  to  his  fate.  Jack  was 
toddling  towards  his  bedroom  to  hide  until  the  storm  blew 
over,  as  storms  inevitably  must.  Philip  had  evidently  lost 
himself  again  with  the  lost  dramatists,  under  the  force  of 
a  similar  intention.  Neal  was  alone  with  his  aunt. 

in 


U2  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  Where  is  Polly  ? "  he  repeated,  consciously  avoiding 
her  eyes. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  the  mother  said  hoarsely.  "  Why  don't 
you  speak?" 

Neal  squared  his  shoulders;  lifted  a  chin  expressive  of 
his  ability  to  get  through  this  without  Jack  or  Philip. 
"  Polly's  married,"  he  said. 

His  aunt  stared,  her  face  gray,  her  mouth  working. 
"  Married !  "  she  gasped. 

"You  drove  her  to  it.  You "  He  broke  off.  He 

could  not  turn  the  knife.  Maria's  face  alarmed  him.  He 
started  to  ring  for  Delia.  Maria  raised  her  hand.  "  Come 
into  the  library,"  she  whispered  hoarsely. 

He  followed  her,  and  she  shut  the  door  upon  him.  Her 
face  was  still  twitching  nervously,  but  she  managed  to 
whisper,  "  What  has  happened  ?  " 

He  related  what  had  happened.  She  heard  him  to  the  end 
— a  frozen  image  now  of  incredulity,  of  hatred,  he  saw ;  of 
hatred,  not  of  her  lost  child,  but  of  himself. 

"  You  went  to  church  with  her !  You  stood  up  with  her. 
You ! !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  trembling  metallic  voice,  her 
eyes  still  blank  and  incredulous. 

"  I  couldn't  let  her  go  to  church  alone." 

"  You  could  have  stopped  her." 

"  She  trusted  me." 

Unconsciously  he  had  thrust  a  barb  into  the  already 
wounded  breast.  Maria  with  a  little  cry  put  her  hand  to 
her  throat. 

"  This  is  terrible — terrible!    Where  are  they  ?  " 

Neal  spoke  of  the  breakfast  which  Jack  had  provided. 
Strangely  enough,  Jack's  part  in  the  matter  seemed  to  make 
no  impression  upon  Mrs.  Guthrie.  It  was  always  so,  Neal 
reflected  bitterly.  Whatever  Jack  did  had  about  it  the  sav- 
ing human  trait  that  won  him  forgiveness. 

"  You  should  have  brought  her  home,"  Maria  wailed. 

"  And  to  what !  More  unhappiness,  more  misunderstand- 
ing ?  She  didn't  want  to  marry  Peter — but  you " 

"  Spare  me.    You've  done  enough  to-day." 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  113 

She  had  sunk  into  a  chair  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands.  A  Niobe  indeed,  but  Neal  was  too  young  and  too 
idealistic  to  pity  her,  since  she  had  carefully  sown  the 
dragon's  teeth  which  had  brought  forth  this  harvest.  He 
bowed  and  turned  to  the  door,  which,  before  he  could  reach 
it,  was  opened  hastily.  Csecilia  entered,  flushed  and  out  of 
breath.  One  look  from  Maria  to  Neal  confirmed  her  worst 
fears. 

"  Oh,  what  made  her  do  it !  "  she  cried. 

"  Ask  Neal,"  Maria  moaned. 

Neal's  anger  flamed  up.  "  My  dear  Aunts,  you  both 
act  as  if  Polly  had  married  a  stoker." 

"  She's  married  a  poor  man !  " 

Caecilia  looked  helplessly  at  Neal.  Under  this  ruling,  she 
also  had  committed  a  crime.  Her  sympathies  began  to  flow 
towards  Polly. 

"When— how?" 

Neal  again  explained.  Upon  his  last  words  Alexander 
Carmichael  entered,  with  the  look  he  always  wore  in  a 
family  storm,  of  regarding  it  more  fearfully  than  any  battle 
he  had  ever  been  in.  He  fixed  stern  accusing  eyes  upon 
his  grandson,  his  lips  beneath  his  white  mustache  trembling 
a  little. 

Neal  had  borne  enough.  The  last  scene  had  better  be  on 
and  over  with. 

The  hush  of  extreme  agitation  fell  upon  them  all  as  he 
finished  speaking,  for  under  his  defense  was  also  an  im- 
plied arraignment  of  the  family  policy.  Alexander  Car- 
michael, still  angry,  was  about  to  utter  a  sharp  rejoinder, 
when  suddenly  from  a  room  above  them  came  floating  down 
in  a  thick,  sentimental,  carefree  voice,  a  singular  carol  to 
accompany  a  family  fracas.  Jack  was  warbling: 

"Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 
And  I  will  pledge  with  mine." 

Maria  broke  into  the  laughter  of  hysteria.    The  grand- 
father laid  a  hand  on  Neal's  shoulder. 
"  Where  did  they  go  ?  "  he  asked. 


ii4  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  I  didn't  ask  them.     I  didn't  want  to  know." 
"  You  wanted  him  to  marry  her  body  and  soul,  I  sup- 
pose, before  we  could  bring  them  back.    Well,  you  played 
Don  Quixote  this  day  to  the  queen's  taste.     I  think  an 
apology  is  due  your  aunt." 

"  If  she  didn't  deceive  Polly,  I'll  apologize." 
The  old  aristocrat  was  answered.  His  hand  dropped  from 
Neal's  shoulder,  but  the  anger  in  his  eyes  had  been  replaced 
by  unwilling  admiration.  This  boy  at  least  had  the  ancient 
Carmichael  spirit  unknown  to  that  soft,  singing  fool  up- 
stairs, or  to  his  bookish  brother. 

The  love  carol  of  his  carefree  relative  had  the  effect 
upon  Neal  of  summoning  Ada  to  his  consciousness,  and  as 
an  adjunct  of  Ada,  Peter.  Of  course  a  disappointed  lover 
would  share  Mrs.  Guthrie's  sense  of  outrage,  and  would 
be  inclined  to  fix  blame  upon  the  innocent,  as  she  had 
done.  The  uneasiness  which  this  reflection  awakened  be- 
came at  last  positive  alarm  lest  Ada  should  believe  him 
guilty  of  betraying  Peter's  hospitality,  by  hastening  from 
his  house-party  to  promote  Polly's  nuptials.  To  quiet  his 
fears  Neal  dispatched  the  coachman's  son  with  a  note  to 
Ada,  explaining  how  he  came  to  be  the  Mercutio  of  this 
comedy.  The  messenger  returned  without  an  answer. 


CHAPTER  XV 

JUST  what  the  Fleming  household  thought  of  his  part  in 
the  adventure  of  his  cousin's  runaway  marriage  was  made 
clear  to  Neal  a  few  days  later  when,  meeting  Peter  on  the 
ferry,  his  old  chum  deliberately  turned  on  his  heel  and  pre- 
sented an  offended  back  to  Neal's  outstretched  hand.  The 
latter,  walking  moodily  away,  came  face  to  face  the  next 
moment  with  Patricia,  in  whose  eyes  was  a  light  that 
beamed  comfort,  invitation,  understanding.  He  joined  her, 
not  unobserved  by  Peter,  whose  heart  was  as  lead  within 
him.  Unceasing  pain  had  racked  him  since  Polly's  marriage. 
He  couldn't  forgive  Neal!  If  Ada  chose  to  pardon  him, 
that  was  another  matter;  but  Neal  had  better  be  careful. 
Of  all  persons  in  the  world,  Ada  was  the  last  to  accept  a 
divided  devotion ;  and  there  was  Carmichael  pacing  the  deck 
with  a  girl  out  of  his  class.  It  would  serve  Neal  right 
to  lose  Ada  if  he  was  so  infernally  clumsy  with  everyone's 
affairs,  including  his  own. 

Patricia  meanwhile  was  speaking  of  Polly's  marriage, 
which  had  appealed  to  the  nascent  romance  in  her  own 
heart.  Her  eyes  were  tender  and  clairvoyant  as  she  said 
in  the  tone  of  a  champion,  "  Of  course  you  couldn't  do 
anything  but  help  her." 

Her  tone  implied  that  he  had  played  the  part  of  a  winged 
Perseus,  and  Neal,  whose  nerves  had  been  on  edge  ever 
since  two  households  had  sent  him  to  Coventry,  accepted 
Patricia's  sympathy  with  gratitude.  She  looked  very  lovely, 
he  thought,  with  the  soft  color  coming  and  going  in  her 
cheeks,  her  eyes  full  of  shining  life. 

His  musing  fancies  concerning  her  brought  questions  to 
his  lips.  Was  she  always  to  give  up  her  life  to  the  poor  and 
sick  ?  Patricia  considered  this  a  moment.  Something  in  her 
heart  had  echoed  "  no  "  to  the  inquiry — "  no,"  indeed,  since 

"5 


u6  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

no  real  woman  could  wed  a  cause  or  a  pursuit,  however 
maternal.  There  were  dearer  joys  than  nursing  people. 
Much  of  this  she  couldn't  convey  to  him. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  want  my  own  home  some  day,"  she 
ventured. 

Neal  sighed,  thinking  of  Ada.  "  Oh,  yes,  there's  nothing 
like  it,  if  the  man  isn't  poor." 

Patricia  laughed.    "  Even  if  he  were  poor,  I  should  say!  " 

"  But  the  struggle,  Patricia." 

"  We  all  need  discipline.  Most  of  us  get  it.  You  don't 
mind  it  so  much  when  you're  not  struggling  alone." 

She  was  pleading  for  her  happiness,  but  he  translated 
every  phrase  into  his  own  problem  with  Ada — Ada!  She 
was  never  out  of  his  thoughts.  She  was  with  him  when, 
the  parenthetical  pause  of  the  ferry  at  an  end,  he  plunged 
into  his  day's  work.  He  meant  to  see  her  that  evening. 
He  wondered  what  she  would  say  about  Polly's  marriage. 
During  the  day  he  planned  a  defense  not  only  of  his  cousin's 
position  but  his  own.  When  he  found  himself  in  Ada's 
presence,  however,  the  lucidity  of  his  argument  was  ob- 
scured by  doubts,  by  unforeseen  embarrassment.  He  said 
finally  that  Peter  had  no  right  to  cut  him. 

"  He  has  the  rights  of  a  deeply  wounded  man,"  Ada  said. 
"  Hasn't  he  lost  both  a  friend  and  the  girl  he  loved  ?  " 

"  He  hasn't  lost  me !  " 

"Did  you  give  him  much  chance  this  morning?  Peter 
seemed  to  think  Miss  McCoy  was  absorbing  all  your  atten- 
tion." 

"  She  was,"  Neal  answered  brusquely.  "  She's  the  only 
person  who  hasn't  rapped  me  as  a  romantic  fool." 

Ada's  face  grew  cold.  "  So  you  sought  her  for  sym- 
pathy?" 

"  I  didn't  seek  her.  We  ran  across  each  other  on  the 
boat." 

"  Of  course." 

Ada's  intonations  were  full  of  meaning,  but  Neal  failed 
to  receive  all  that  she  wanted  to  convey.  For  a  moment 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  117 

she  felt  near  to  tears.  Did  he  really  care  for  the  Irish 
girl? 

"  Is  Peter  never  going  to  speak  to  me  again  ? "  Neal 
asked  abruptly. 

"  He  feels  sore  just  now.  He'll  get  over  it.  Let's  go 
out  into  the  garden." 

So  into  the  garden  they  went,  where  moonlight  was 
creating  lovely  spells  of  still,  pale  beauty,  the  light  lying 
in  silver  sheets  on  flower-beds,  lawns  and  distant  hills.  Ada 
seemed  ghost-like  in  her  white  gown,  her  fair  face  turned 
to  Neal's.  He  was  keeping  a  curb  on  himself  with  difficulty. 
They  drew  nearer  together,  walking  more  and  more  slowly 
and  speaking  of  trifles  with  voices  that  sank  lower  and 
lower. 

A  turn  of  the  path  brought  them  into  the  deep  shadow 
of  a  high  hedge.  Neal  suddenly  stopped,  and  she  could 
hear  his  quick  breathing  as  he  made  a  gesture — a  holding 
out  of  his  arms  to  draw  the  world  into  them.  But  she  drew 
back  quickly. 

"Ada!" 

"  Not  now — not  here !  " 

"  Ada,  you  know  I  love  you." 

"Do  you?" 

The  two  little  words  held  ice  and  steel — the  profound 
skepticism  of  a  woman  longing  to  be  convinced.  Neal, 
facing  her,  felt  desire  go  from  him,  as  if  through  some 
paralysis  of  his  will.  Anger  replaced  passion — anger  that 
she  could  doubt  him,  could  look  so  calm  while  he  suffered 
from  his  sheer  inability  to  tell  her  what  he  felt. 

The  occasion  was  prophetic. 

Through  the  summer  she  carefully  guarded  against  a 
repetition  of  the  scene;  and  Neal,  bewildered  by  her,  and 
hurt  by  Peter's  continued  coldness,  put  romance  aside  in 
favor  of  the  practical  matter  of  "  getting  on."  Polly  was 
his  only  confidante,  though  to  Patricia  at  times  he  spoke 
of  his  ambitions  because  she  was  so  responsive.  But  his 
cousin  knew  his  secrets,  and  her  little  home  became  a  real 
refuge  to  him. 


u8  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  Cousin  Neal,"  she  said  wistfully  one  day,  "  do  you 

think  Mother "  She  broke  off,  avoiding  his  eyes,  then 

lifted  up  something  of  fine  texture.  Her  broken  sentence, 
her  shy  imploring  look  drew  his  eyes  to  what  she  held. 

"  Polly  dear !  " 

"Do  you  think  they'll  forgive  me  now — Mother  and 
Grandfather?" 

She  spoke  as  if  such  a  miracle  should  bring  them  to 
wonder  and  admire.  Neal  doubted  it.  Mrs.  Guthrie  had 
retired  into  the  citadel  of  her  pride  and  did  not  seem  likely 
to  capitulate.  His  grandfather  still  refused  to  consider 
Polly's  marriage  anything  but  an  escapade. 

To  evade  the  question  Neal  asked  for  her  congratulations 
on  his  promotion  to  the  editorial  staff  of  The  Courier. 

"  That  brings  you  nearer  to  Ada,  doesn't  it  ?  "  Polly  said 
with  sweet  directness. 

"  Ada  gets  further  and  further  away,"  he  replied,  for  he 
always  spoke  with  frankness  to  his  cousin.  "  Peter  has 
never  forgiven  me,  and  I  see  Ada — she  arranges  it  so — 
only  when  Peter  isn't  there :  I  rarely  see  her  alone !  " 

Polly  hesitated.  "  There  may  be — another  reason,"  she 
said.  "  Aunt  Caecilia  told  me  yesterday  that  there  is  gossip 
in  the  Island  about  your  friendship  with — with  Patricia 
McCoy.  I  understand,  you  know,"  Polly  went  on  hastily, 
"  your  work  has  thrown  you  together." 

"  Why — of  course,"  Neal  answered.  "  Patricia  has  the 
district  where  most  of  my  reporting  lies,  or  where  I  worked 
before  the  promotion." 

With  the  instinct  to  ( feel  guilt  where  guilt  is  implied,  his 
mind  went  back  rapidly  over  what  had  not  been  a  happy 
summer.  But  his  review  of  his  walks  and  conversations 
with  Patricia  revealed  even  to  his  hypercritical  mood  only 
what  seemed  the  most  impersonal  relation. 

"  Patricia  McCoy  is  a  world  too  good  for  me,"  he  com- 
mented. "As  for  gossip — it's  ridiculous.  Patricia  would 
be  the  first  to " 

But  he  broke  off,  for  truth  was  not  in  the  conclusion  he 
wanted  to  emphasize.  Only  the  night  before  he  had  seen 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  119 

a  look  in  her  eyes  which  at  the  time  affected  him  as 
heightening  Patricia's  beauty.  Now  the  memory  of  it 
stirred  him,  gave  him  a  comfort  to  which  he  had  no  right, 
as  if,  for  an  instant,  a  passing  air  had  brought  him  the 
scent  of  jasmine  or  the  rose.  The  sense  of  romance  was 
so  vague  that  almost  in  the  same  moment  he  was  back 
in  the  world  which  Ada  dominated.  Here  all  was  clear, 
hard  daylight.  Ada  created  passion  without  illusion.  When 
she  appeared  life  became  difficult,  a  challenge,  a  rapture 
founded  on  dismay. 

As  it  happened  the  first  person  he  met  at  home  was 
Mrs.  Guthrie,  between  whom  and  himself  relations  were 
still  strained.  Should  he  tell  her  now  that  the  House  of 
Carmichael  was  to  be  continued  in  the  distaff  line? 

"  I've  seen  Polly  to-day,"  he  announced. 

At  the  sound  of  her  daughter's  name  Mrs.  Guthrie  stif- 
fened, tightened  her  lips. 

"  I  think  she  needs  her  mother." 

"  I'm  the  best  judge  of  that." 

"  She's  expecting  a  baby,"  he  said,  despairing  of  a  more 
circuitous  delivery  of  his  news. 

Maria's  face  worked  painfully  for  a  moment ;  then,  with- 
out answer  or  comment,  she  turned  and  went  into  the 
drawing-room. 

Neal  went  on  to  the  library.  His  grandfather  looked  up 
sharply.  "  I  heard  what  you  said.  There  was  nothing  else 
to  be  expected." 

"  They  are  very  much  in  love,"  Neal  stated  in  extenua- 
tion. 

"  A  quixotic  sentiment !  How  about  this  East  Side  nurse  ? 
I  thought  there  was  some  reason  for  your  extravagant 
interest  in  the  poor,"  the  old  man  commented,  jealousy  of 
his  grandson  driving  him  to  bitterness.  "  Do  you  expect 
Miss  Fleming  to  accept  you,  after  your  philandering  all 
summer  with  Patricia  McCoy  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  shaft  reached  its  mark,  but  the  poison  of  injustice 
was  in  the  wound.  Did  they  realize  that  Peter  avoided 


120  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

him  as  if  he  had  the  plague,  and  that  Ada  had  fitted  every 
meeting  with  him  this  summer  to  the  exigencies  of  Peter's 
hate?  But  was  he  losing  her?  He  would  seek  her  and 
know  the  truth.  Descending  the  stairs  after  dressing,  he 
met  Jack,  who  spoke  of  Polly.  Someone  had  told  him 
what  the  little  girl  was  in  for. 

"  You'll  see  her  sooner  than  I  will,"  Jack  said,  producing 
some  bills.  "  Give  her  these  to  buy  what-you-call-'ems 
for  the  layette.  I'd  send  more  but  I'm  hard  up." 

Neal  melted.    "  That's  awfully  decent  of  you." 

Ada,  always  more  gracious  to  two  than  to  one,  watched 
both  Neal  and  Wentworth  with  her  usual  interest  in  psy- 
chology. The  rivalries  of  the  two  men,  national  and  ro- 
mantic, threatened  to  break  through  the  flimsy  web  of 
their  assumed  politeness  at  any  moment.  Wentworth  was 
talking  of  London,  as  if  it  were  to  be  Ada's  future  home, 
a  vast  background  for  her  beauty.  Had  she  ever  met  Lady 
Helen  Dunworth?  No?  The  introduction  must  take  place 
some  day.  A  fine  woman,  Lady  Helen,  and  very  knowing 
on  the  turf.  Her  first  cousin,  Guy  Castle,  was  bookish, 
but  one  of  the  handsomest  men  in  London.  Ada  must  meet 
him! 

These  offhand  remarks  made  all  the  more  impression  on 
Neal  because  he  felt  instinctively  that  the  Englishman  was 
not  putting  on  "  side."  He  had  come  straight  from  such 
associations,  and  meant  to  go  back  to  them,  not  unaccom- 
panied, if  his  masterful  glances  towards  Ada  signified  any- 
thing. Neal,  feeling  like  a  castaway,  was  fast  getting  to 
the  point  when,  if  only  for  a  moment,  he  must  believe  that 
he  owned  the  earth.  She  must  acknowledge  his  mastery. 

When  the  representative  of  imperialism  had  reluctantly 
taken  his  departure,  Neal  addressed  Ada  with  an  unusual 
note  of  self-assertion. 

"  He's  not  sure  yet.    I  must  be !  " 

Ada,  feeling  that  she  had  at  last  arrived  at  a  goal  for 
which  she  had  been  long  preparing,  faced  Neal  with  innocent 
inquiry  and  inward  excitement. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  121 

"Sure  of  what?" 

"  Of  you !    Ada,  I've  had  a  wretched  summer." 

Her  soft,  incredulous  smile  held  a  meaning  he  longed  to 
efface. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  cried  impetuously,  "  that  anyone  in 
the  world  matters  but  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  only  facts  to  guide  me,"  she  said  meditatively. 
"  I  am  not  gifted  with  imagination." 

"  You  are  thinking  of  Patricia,"  he  said  boldly. 

"  Am  I  ? — but  you — did  you  think  of  her  ?  " 

Her  tone  was  serious  now.  Her  troubled  eyes  searched 
his  face,  put  him  at  the  bar,  a  prisoner  to  his  own  record. 
It  was  useless  to  explain,  and  he  didn't  attempt  it.  Return- 
ing her  look,  he  became  conscious  only  of  the  fact  that 
he  wanted  her  more  than  he  wanted  anything  else  on  earth. 
Passion  flamed  into  action.  With  a  smothered  cry  he 
caught  her  roughly  in  his  arms  and  covered  her  face  with 
kisses.  To  his  incredulous  delight  she  did  not  move  from 
him,  but  hid  her  face  with  some  words  he  did  not  quite 
hear,  and  touched  his  cheek,  drawing  his  head  down  at  last, 
and  offering  her  lips  to  his. 

Neal  walked  home  through  the  night,  poignantly  happy, 
in  a  kind  of  waking  dream,  enacting  over  and  over  the  scene 
with  Ada.  The  sleeping  Island  might  have  spoken  to  him  of 
other  kisses  and  vows,  since  it  had  known  generations  of 
lovers,  but  only  the  rapture  of  the  present  pulsed  in  the 
far-off  monotonous  beat  of  the  waves  on  the  sands,  sighed 
from  lonely  woods  and  beckoned  in  every  light. 

Late  the  next  afternoon  he  hurried  from  the  city  for  a 
chance  of  seeing  Ada  before  dinner,  as  he  knew  her  evening 
was  to  be  given  to  some  friends  of  Mrs.  Fleming's.  In  his 
pocket  was  a  letter  from  Patricia  which  had  caused  him 
sore  perplexity,  since  it  contained  a  request  that  he  should 
accompany  her  on  a  charitable  census  of  the  Island :  less  a 
request,  indeed,  than  a  reminder,  for  he  had  planned  the 
expedition  with  her  some  weeks  before.  Now  that  Ada 
had  accepted  him,  he  wanted  to  run  no  risk  of  giving  color 


122  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

to  the  reports  of  which  his  grandfather  and  Polly  had 
spoken. 

He  found  her  in  the  garden  in  a  nook  where  the  October 
sunshine  seemed  to  concentrate  its  warmth. 

"  My  darling !  "  he  said  eagerly. 

She  let  him  take  her  hands,  but  she  turned  her  cheek 
to  his  kisses.  He  was  finding  her  already  in  another  mood ; 
and  questions  rose  to  his  lips.  Was  she  tired?  Was  she 
regretting  her  surrender? 

"  Ada,"  he  said  impulsively,  "  I  want  to  tell  the  whole 
world !  When  shall  we  announce  our  engagement  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  announce  it  ? "  she  questioned 
languidly,  though  she  knew  what  he  meant.  Her  test  of 
him  was  precisely  that  he  should  give  up  everyone  for  her 
without  warrant,  without  price,  without  the  simple  expedi- 
ent of  an  announcement.  She  must  be  absolutely  sure  of 
his  private  devotion  before  a  public  stamp  was  put  upon 
it.  "  Do  you  want  everyone  to  know  you're  the  winner  ?  " 
she  added. 

"  Wentworth  should  know  it,"  he  gave  back. 

"  You  don't  expect  me  to  give  up  my  friendship  with 
Mr.  Wentworth  just  because  we're  engaged  ?  " 

"  Does  the  rule  work  both  ways,  Ada  ?  " 

She  flashed  a  keen  glance  at  him. 

"  That's  for  you  to  decide,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

PATRICIA  had  long  ago  passed  her  Rubicon,  the  ancient 
tradition  that  a  maid  should  never  allow  her  heart  to  go 
out  of  her  keeping  unless  she  was  first  sure  that  she  herself 
was  desired.  That  was  intolerable  nonsense,  she  thought ;  a 
relic  of  days  when  ringleted  women  were  serenaded  by 
lovers  as  foolish  and  insubstantial  as  themselves.  Patricia 
loved  Neal  with  all  her  heart,  and  to  herself  pretended 
nothing  else.  But  her  dogmatism  ceased  with  herself.  She 
had  no  certainty  that  Neal  cared  for  her,  and  her  Golden 
Treasury  held  as  yet  only  blank  leaves.  The  joy,  as  far 
as  she  could  tell,  was  all  her  own,  though  she  watched  her 
companion  keenly  for  signs  of  his  response  to  her  emotion ; 
silent  dignified  watching,  for  Patricia's  pride  was  strong. 
She  gloried  in  her  love,  but  until  it  was  returned  she  would 
guard  it  from  all  eyes,  and  chiefly  from  his,  who  was  master 
of  it  all. 

There  came  a  time  in  the  autumn  when  for  several  weeks 
she  did  not  see  him;  a  desert  stretch,  since  absence  and 
silence  test  the  strength  as  well  as  the  feebleness  of  an  emo- 
tion. Her  days  dragged.  The  family,  marking  her  pale- 
ness and  preoccupation,  told  her  that  she  worked  too  hard. 
Thomas  Murphy  plied  her  in  vain  with  invitations ;  Patricia 
declined  them  all.  She  would  not  give  Thomas  the  slight- 
est excuse  for  hope. 

She  sat  at  her  desk  one  evening  wondering  whether  to 
send  the  letter  she  had  just  written  to  Neal,  a  business-like 
epistle  reminding  him  of  a  census  they  had  agreed  to  take 
together,  and  running  scarcely  to  six  lines.  Her  pen  bal- 
anced in  her  hand,  she  mused  over  the  little  note.  Would 
he  think  her  forward?  Would  he  be  glad  to  be  reminded? 
Delia  had  intimated  that  he  was  often  with  Miss  Fleming 
these  days.  At  the  very  thought  a  wave  of  passionate  pro- 

123 


I24  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

test  swept  over  Patricia.  Ada  could  never  really  care  for 
Neal  Carmichael  as  she  did.  She  was  too  cold,  too  treacher- 
ous, too  vain  for  true  loving. 

Patricia  glanced  across  the  room  at  her  mother  at  her 
eternal  task  of  darning  stockings  for  her  brood;  the  rosy 
boys  and  girls  who  were  studying  their  lessons  around  the 
evening  lamp.  How  sure  and  sensible  she  was !  Could  she 
ever  understand  what  Patricia  felt?  Conscious  of  her 
daughter's  gaze  upon  her,  Mrs.  McCoy  looked  up.  "  Stop 
your  writin',  Pat,  and  talk  to  us,"  she  said  with  a  note  of 
affectionate  impatience. 

"  Ain't  she  the  quiet  girl  these  days,"  McCoy  com- 
mented. "  And  never  a  bit  of  fun  with  Thomas,  as  he  was 
complainin'  to  me." 

"  I  haven't  time,  Dad." 

"  Ease  up  on  the  work  or  you'll  die  an  old  maid,  Patsie." 

Patricia  smiled.  "  I'll  never  feel  like  one — even  if  I  die 
one." 

One  of  her  brothers  rose  from  the  study  table.  "  I'm 
going  down  the  street.  Give  me  your  letter,  Pat ;  I'll  mail 
it." 

He  caught  it  up  before  she  could  protest,  and  read  the 
address.  " '  Neal  Carmichael,  Esqr.'  My,  Sis,  but  you've 
got  swell  friends !  " 

Patricia  blushed  furiously.  An  explanation  sprang  to  her 
lips,  but  she  decided  it  was  best  to  say  nothing.  Her 
mother's  eyes  were  upon  her,  and  she  thought  she  detected 
anxiety  in  them,  but  her  father  looked  complacent,  even 
pleased. 

After  the  manner  of  all  pleasures  that  are  carefully 
planned,  the  trips  with  Neal  over  the  Island  proved  an  un- 
certain joy,  for  he  seemed  abstracted,  aloof  and  once  or 
twice  she  thought  that  he  appeared  to  be  impatient  of  these 
expeditions  of  which  the  last  came  only  too  quickly  for  her. 
Neal  was  in  fact  wishing  them  over.  He  was  conscious  of 
being  in  a  false  position,  for  Ada  still  insisted  on  keeping 
her  engagement  secret;  and  his  intercourse  with  Patricia 
had  lost  much  of  its  spontaneity.  He  admired  her,  he 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  125 

thought  her  beautiful,  there  were  moments  when  he  felt 
drawn  to  her  by  some  force  more  powerful  than  his  own 
will ;  nevertheless  he  hadn't  the  ghost  of  a  right  to  be  with 
her  even  under  these  business-like  circumstances.  He 
wished  he  could  impart  his  wonderful  news  to  her,  for  he 
felt  sure  of  her  friendly  sympathy;  but  he  kept  strictly 
to  the  letter  of  Ada's  wishes,  and  Ada  seemed  in  no  hurry 
to  use  her  prerogative  of  announcement. 

A  dull  November  day,  closing  in  upon  their  final  labors, 
found  them  far  in  the  country,  upon  a  hill  which  revealed 
a  leaden  sea  in  the  distance. 

"  It's  a  day  to  be  indoors  by  a  fire,"  Patricia  said  wist- 
fully. 

"  With  a  good  book." 

"  Or  with  someone  you  care  for,"  she  murmured,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  distant  sea.  Neal  thought  of  Ada.  Only 
the  night  before  they  had  played  with  a  wood  fire  like  two 
children,  building  it  up  for  the  pleasure  of  poking  it  down. 

As  their  faces  were  now  set  homeward  he  proposed  that 
they  should  turn  down  a  lane  which  furnished  a  short-cut 
to  one  of  the  stations  of  the  little  railroad  skirting  the 
Island. 

"  Why  can't  we  go  back  on  the  trolley  ?  "  Patricia  ques- 
tioned. 

"  The  train  will  get  us  there  quicker." 

She  sighed.    "Are  you  in  a  hurry?" 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  "  I  must  be  at  the  office  by 
four." 

Her  heart  felt  leaden.  She  would  see  him  again,  of 
course,  she  reassured  herself,  but  probably  no  definite  date 
would  be  set;  and  she  would  enter  one  of  those  paren- 
thetical periods  in  which  a  woman  doesn't  really  live,  but 
only  kills  time  until  reunion  with  her  beloved  again  quickens 
her  spirit.  The  alchemy  of  love  had  changed  her  world 
for  her,  had  taken  the  value  from  old  interests,  rendering 
her  philanthropic  work  intolerably  empty  unless  shared  with 
Neal.  The  penalty  of  finding  gold  in  certain  rare  hours  is 
the  filling  of  the  others  with  lead. 


J26  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Perceiving  her  silence,  Neal  asked  her  if  she  were  tired  ? 
Was  she  working  too  hard  ? 

«  Oh— no !    I'm  used  to  that !  " 

She  was  not  used  to  romance,  she  might  have  added,  to 
dreams  made  true,  yet  not  wholly  true.  She  was  again 
with  Neal,  but  she  was  not  sure  she  could  make  him  love 
her.  The  doubt  darkened  the  darkening  afternoon. 

"  There'll  be  snow,"  Neal  said,  glancing  at  the  sky. 
"  We've  had  luck,  Patricia,  on  these  walks." 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  said  dreamily,  and  he  smiled  at  her  use 
of  tenses.  What  was  on  her  mind  ? 

At  that  moment  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  in  a  gallop 
rang  sharply  on  the  frozen  road.  Almost  in  the  same  mo- 
ment two  riders  appeared,  swept  past  them.  Wentworth 
raised  his  hat.  In  a  flash  Neal  saw  Ada's  face,  white,  cold, 
astonished. 

On  Christmas  morning  the  Carmichael  family  followed 
their  usual  custom  of  attending  service  in  the  old  country 
church  of  St.  Anne's,  of  which  Caecilia's  husband  was  rector. 
Even  Jack  slipped  modestly  into  the  square,  roomy  pew, 
where  generations  of  Carmichaels  had  entreated  a  mercy 
which  a  few  of  them  at  least  believed  they  needed. 

The  church  being  isolated  and  lonely,  the  congregation 
asleep  in  its  yard  far  outnumbered  the  congregation  within 
its  walls,  which  even  on  high  days  was  assembled  gradually 
and  with  difficulty.  Both  the  Flemings  and  the  Carmichaels 
arriving  before  the  service,  lingered,  the  day  being  bright 
and  mild,  along  the  sloping  walk  between  the  graves.  Neal, 
observing  that  Ada  was  not  with  the  Flemings,  waited  until 
Peter  should  go  into  church  before  approaching  Mrs.  Flem- 
ing to  inquire  for  her  niece. 

Mrs.  Guthrie,  who,  with  her  father,  was  greeting  friends, 
glanced  from  time  to  time  at  Neal.  When  some  expression 
in  his  deep-set  eyes  or  some  humorous  curve  of  his  sensitive 
mouth  reminded  her  of  Polly,  she  could  have  cried  out  with 
the  intensity  of  her  pain.  She  longed  to  go  to  him,  and, 
begging  his  forgiveness  for  past  harshness,  ask  him  to  take 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  127 

her  to  Polly — Polly  who  had  refused  her  mother's  invita- 
tion to  Christmas  dinner  because  her  husband  was  not 
included. 

As  she  stood  irresolute  Mr.  Griffin  approached  her.  His 
sympathy  for  his  sister-in-law  was  very  great,  but  the  priest 
in  him  demanded  something  more  of  her  than  this  soul- 
excoriating  pride. 

"  Caecilia  tells  me  Polly  won't  be  at  dinner  to-day  because 
you  didn't  invite  William.  There's  time  yet;  you  could 
telephone  from  the  parish  house." 

His  voice  was  winning,  urgent.  Maria  turned  her  face 
away.  "  David,  you  don't  understand." 

"  Remember  what  day  it  is,  Maria,"  he  said  gently ;  "  you 
can't  approach  the " 

Her  face  hardened.  "  Don't  remind  me.  I  don't  intend 
to  receive  this  morning." 

A  look  of  pain  crossed  his  face,  but  he  made  no  comment, 
and  continued  on  his  way  greeting  other  parishioners. 

The  walk  had  almost  cleared  now.  Neal  saw  his  oppor- 
tunity to  speak  to  Mrs.  Fleming,  who  seemed  herself  waiting 
to  address  him.  Crossing  to  her  side  he  wished  her  a 
"  Merry  Christmas "  and  then  inquired  for  Ada.  Mrs. 
Fleming  looked  embarrassed. 

"  I  thought,  of  course,  you  knew.  Ada  sailed  for  Eng- 
land yesterday.  She  asked  me  to  give  you  this  note." 

Neal  took  it,  murmured  "  Thank  you,"  then  stood  as  if 
devoid  of  all  power  of  further  initiative.  Mrs.  Fleming  had 
only  half  forgiven  him  for  his  part  in  Polly's  marriage,  but 
now  all  vicarious  resentment  for  her  son's  disappointment 
was  swept  away.  She  had  seen  that  look  before  in  the 
faces  of  men  with  whom  Ada  had  been  trifling.  As  the 
last  bell  was  sounding  she  moved  away,  leaving  him  alone 
in  the  churchyard.  Mechanically  he  opened  the  note  and 
read  these  lines : 

"  DEAR  NEAL  : 

"  I  am  sailing  for  London  to-day.  As  there  are  others 
to  fill  your  life,  there  seemed  no  reason  why  we  should  go 


i28  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

through  the  form  of  saying  farewell.  I  am  remaining  away 
for  an  indefinite  period,  and  I  have  no  plans.  You  have 
my  best  wishes  for  your  work,  your  ambitions — whatever 
it  is  you  want  most. 

"  ADA." 

With  numb  fingers  he  replaced  the  sheet  of  paper  in  its 
envelope.  From  his  trance  of  suffering  he  was  roused  at 
last  by  a  touch  at  his  elbow. 

"  Service  has  begun,  sir,"  the  sexton  reminded  him. 

Caecilia,  who  occupied  a  place  in  the  family  pew  upon 
these  high  days,  wondered  why  Neal  knelt  so  long  after 
entering,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  It  was  unlike  him, 
for  he  was  scantily  conventional  in  his  religious  observances. 
When  he  rose  at  last  he  looked  ashen,  depleted  of  all  force 
and  with  an  expression  that  filled  Caecilia  with  questioning 
anxiety. 

He  heard  nothing  of  the  service  until  it  was  far  on  its 
way.  Cruel !  Oh,  cruel ! — to  lead  him  on,  to  lull  him  into 
expectant  peace,  then  to  deal  this  blow,  which  in  its  sud- 
denness resembled  the  treachery  of  a  half-tamed  animal. 
Why  had  she  done  this?  What  was  the  offense  that  de- 
served such  a  punishment?  Across  his  mind  flashed  the 
image  of  Patricia ;  but  he  had  explained  it  all  to  Ada  after 
that  encounter  in  the  lane,  and  she  had  seemed  satisfied. 
Wentworth  was  with  her  that  day.  Why  should  she  have 
resented  his  being  with  Patricia?  She  must  have  resented 
it,  or  why  this  flight  ? 

Through  his  confusion  he  became  aware  at  last  that  the 
choir  was  singing,  and  gradually  the  refrain  of  the  quaint 
carol  reached  his  inner  sense : 

"O,  Jesu   Parvulu! 
My  heart  is  sore  for  thee." 

The  spirit  of  mocking  doubt  arose  in  him.  Jesus  Par- 
vulus !  What  did  this,  or  any  congregation  for  that  matter, 
know  of  Him,  swathed  and  mummied  in  their  ambitions, 
their  worldliness !  Ada  had  gone,  of  course,  to  a  man  who 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  129 

could  add  wealth  to  her  wealth,  after  filling  Neal's  heart 
with  fool's  gold. 
The  choir  sang  on : 

"  What  shall  suffice  Him  whom  heaven  and  earth  obey?  " 

He  could  have  laughed  aloud  in  his  mockery  of  Ada, 
himself  and  all  his  fellows,  turning  in  despair  at  last  to 
a  Figure  beyond  his  mockery.  Who  was  this  Christ  they 
travestied  weekly  in  their  churches  and  daily  in  their  lives, 
this  Man  out  of  history  whose  wounds  were  remembered 
when  empires  were  forgotten?  Nothing  about  Him  could 
be  believed  but  His  tragic  death.  Yet  the  legend  flashed 
out  again  with  a  strange  tale  of  a  Man  comforting,  after 
His  Crucifixion,  the  multitudinous  generations  of  shadowy 
genealogies,  going  to  them  into  whatever  portion  of  the 
universe  they  had  carried  their  sorrow,  their  wistfulness, 
their  frustrated  hopes  and  joys.  From  that  mysterious 
communion  with  the  spirits  in  prison,  the  record  told  of  a 
supernal  recrudescence.  He  had  returned  to  ask  his  apostle 
Peter  if  he  still  loved  Him,  and  to  feed  some  hungry 
fishermen. 

No,  it  could  not  be  believed!  Neal's  denials  followed 
hard  upon  these  unaccustomed  thoughts  to  which  excess 
of  pain  had  driven  him — his  first  real  approach  to  the  mys- 
teries of  religion. 

The  communion  service  began.  The  words  were  familiar 
enough  to  him,  over-familiar,  indeed,  meaning  less  than 
nothing.  He  had  heard  them  from  little  boyhood.  Month 
after  month  he  had  communicated,  following  the  long  cus- 
tom of  his  family ;  but  now,  he  said  to  himself,  he  would  not 
receive,  not  this  day  nor  any  day  to  come.  This  rite  was 
to  commemorate  suffering.  He  could  at  least  keep  away 
from  what  he  had  never  taken  the  trouble  to  inquire  into, 
or  to  follow  with  understanding.  Jack  had  slipped  out  of 
church  as  a  matter  of  course  before  the  communion  service. 
Whatever  his  sins,  he  was  at  least  honest. 


I3o  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

The  church  party  arrived  home  with  an  expression  that 
said,  "  There !  that's  over  "  ;  an  expression  from  which  even 
Csecilia  was  not  altogether  free. 

The  ancient  head  of  the  house,  standing  in  front  of  the 
fire,  which  in  honor  of  Christmas  had  been  lighted  in  the 
great  fireplace  of  the  hall,  looked  about  him  with  a  tired, 
puzzled  expression  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"  Good  sermon,  David,"  he  said,  addressing  his  son-in- 
law,  "  but  old  Benson  went  to  sleep  as  usual.  Large  col- 
lection?" 

"  So-so." 

"  I  used  to  give  liberally,"  the  old  gentleman  said  with 
a  sigh,  "  but  you  know  what  we  are  up  against,  David." 

"  Lord !  but  Christmas  is  an  awful  day  to  get  through," 

Jack  offered  as  his  contribution  to  the  small  talk,  "  after 
.t   » 

He  had  meant  to  say,  "  after  the  children  have  grown 
up,"  but  checked  himself  in  time,  for  his  tact  was  infallible. 
Instead,  he  added,  "  Let's  have  a  glass  of  the  '  eighty-three  ' 
port  all  round." 

Everybody  brightened  a  little,  though  Csecilia  and  her 
husband  drank  no  wine.  The  precious  port  being  brought 
up  from  the  cellarage,  Jack,  as  master  of  ceremonies,  filled 
the  glasses  and  proposed  the  health  of  the  head  of  the 
house.  Alexander  Carmichael's  response  was  short.  He 
had  had  a  queer  illusion  for  a  moment  that  he  heard 
Polly's  voice  say  "  grandaddy."  He  wondered  if  the  heat 
of  the  fire  was  too  much  for  him,  and  moved  away  a  little. 

They  stood  in  silence,  their  glasses  in  their  hands,  feeling 
a  little  awkward  with  each  other,  as  kinsfolk  often  do  on 
high  days  from  which  the  real  significance  has  departed. 
Neal  gulped  his  wine  down  and  poured  himself  another 
glass.  Jack,  who  had  heard  of  Ada's  departure,  said  warn- 
ingty,  "  Go  slow,  old  fellow ;  there's  lava  in  this  vintage." 

"  Heady? "  Philip  remarked. 

"You  can  say  in  Latin  better  than  you  can  in  English 
what  it  would  do  to  you,"  Jack  commented,  wondering  why 
all  Philip's  learning  had  left  him  so  innocent. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  131 

Maria,  like  Neal,  had  drained  the  glass  quickly.  A  surge 
of  warmth  went  through  her  veins,  crept  to  her  heart  that 
had  seemed  for  weeks  to  beat  with  faint  pulsation.  Her 
eyes  swam  with  tears  as  she  remembered  long  ago  Christ- 
mases  and  her  baby  girl,  like  a  white  butterfly,  dancing 
about  the  great  tree  in  which  her  older  cousin  Neal  was 
ashamed  to  take  too  much  interest.  She  had  an  impulse 
towards  forgiveness,  but  the  god  of  the  ill-timed  was  lurk- 
ing in  that  assemblage.  Philip  had  begun  to  be  voluble. 
One  glass  of  wine  could  spur  his  tongue,  because  he  rarely 
touched  it ;  so  he  was  destined  to  be  betrayed  by  his  virtues. 

"  Where  was  Ada  to-day,  Neal  ?  "  he  inquired. 

Neal  turned  white.  Grandfather  Alexander's  anxious 
look  was  focused  upon  him;  he  had  known  something  was 
the  matter  with  Neal. 

His  nephew  remaining  speechless,  Jack  leaped  gallantly 
into  the  breach. 

"  Ada's  taking  a  run  over  to  London ;  back  in  a  month 
or  two,  she  told  me;  maybe  to  Paris  for  a  trousseau,"  he 
lied  heroically,  diverting  all  eyes  to  himself  and  away  from 
his  nephew,  who,  with  the  literalness  of  the  pain-stricken, 
was  about  to  say,  "  When  did  she  tell  you  this  ?  "  A  warn- 
ing glance  from  Jack  said  in  effect,  "  Leave  this  to  me ;  it's 
a  fairy-tale,  but  it  will  give  you  a  chance." 

"  Trousseau,  eh?"  Mr.  Carmichael  echoed,  his  expression 
changing  to  one  of  pleasure.  "  How  about  that,  Neal  ?  Has 
the  time  been  set  ?  " 

"  That's  Ada's  privilege,"  he  answered  with  an  attempt 
at  a  smile. 

Luck  was  not  in  the  wine.  The  very  sound  of  Ada's 
name  recalled  to  Maria  the  world  of  wealth  and  fashion,  all 
she  had  hoped  would  be  Polly's  through  Peter.  She  went 
into  dinner  with  her  face  set  in  resolute  lines. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

PATRICIA,  who  happened  to  see  in  a  passenger  list  the 
name  of  Miss  Fleming,  was  by  that  information  borne  up 
above  her  doubts  and  misgivings.  Interpreting  the  event 
by  the  desires  of  her  own  heart,  she  read  in  the  departure 
a  warrant  for  believing  that  Ada's  English  suitor  had  won 
her,  and  perhaps  that  Neal  had  ceased  to  feel  her  old 
troubling  fascinations.  Hope  had  become  the  light  by  which 
she  lived. 

Christmas  Eve  fell  softly  for  her — a  white,  hushed  time, 
with  myriads  of  candles  at  St.  Margaret's  lighting  the 
manger-crib  and,  at  home,  a  wealth  of  red  and  green  on 
the  walls,  the  smell  of  spices  in  the  air,  and  excited  voices 
of  children  mingling  with  rustle  of  paper  and  crisp  ribbon. 
Patricia  was  brightly  in  the  midst  of  it  all.  McCoy's  pride 
in  her  had  been  greatly  increased  by  the  knowledge  that 
she  was  helping  Neal  Carmichael  in  his  newspaper  work, 
but  Mrs.  McCoy  was  skeptical  of  any  permanent  happiness 
to  her  daughter  through  association  with  Neal.  She  was 
wishing  that  young  Tom  Murphy,  and  not  Carmichael,  was 
producing  the  change  so  visible  in  Patricia's  person — a  deli- 
cate unfolding  of  the  woman  within  her,  a  shy,  sweet  Eve, 
as  sequestered  in  thought,  at  least,  as  liable  to  sudden  rose- 
color  in  her  cheeks,  as  if  she  hadn't  gone  up  and  down 
among  the  poor  and  sinful,  knowing,  Mrs.  McCoy  reflected 
sadly,  more  than  any  maiden  should. 

At  the  early  Mass  Patricia  prayed  earnestly  for  Neal, 
with  the  feeling  that  the  best-beloved  should  have  their  turn 
on  the  greatest  days ;  going  home  later  through  the  morning 
twilight  with  flushed  cheeks  and  joy  in  her  heart.  Christmas 
was  a  happy  day  with  the  McCoys,  entered  upon  with  vigil 
and  confession,  and  ending  with  riotous  fun,  whose  center 
was  their  own  Christmas  tree  and  the  miniature  manger 

132 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  .     133 

beneath  it.  Patricia,  after  dinner,  was  playing  on  an  old 
rattletrap  of  a  piano  for  the  children  to  dance,  when  the 
telephone  rang  and  she  was  summoned. 

"  It — it  was — Mr.  Carmichael,"  she  explained  to  the 
family  on  her  return  to  them.  "  His  cousin  Polly  is  ill — 
wants  to  see  me." 

"  Not  to-day !  "  Mrs.  McCoy  said  impatiently.  "  Where 
is  she  ?  Up  at  the  Carmichaels'  ?  " 

"  No — she's  not  forgiven — even  for  Christmas." 

"  I  call  that  inhuman — but  then  what  else  could  you 
expect  of  them ! " 

Patricia  was  silent.  Neal's  family  was  too  identified  with 
Neal  for  her  comment.  She  was  already  wholly  possessed 
with  the  joy  of  this  unexpected  opportunity.  Perhaps  he 
would  speak  of  Ada,  or  give  some  clew  to  the  mystery  of 
her  departure;  for  he  was  going  to  meet  her  at  the  ferry. 
She  would  be  able  to  read  in  his  face,  she  thought,  what 
the  news  had  meant  to  him. 

In  the  moment  before  he  was  aware  of  her  coming  she 
had  time  to  note  his  pallor,  his  fagged  look.  He  was  far 
from  happy — she  knew  that  at  once !  The  old  pain  stirred 
in  her  heart.  Could  she  never  break  through  his  preoccu- 
pation and  impress  upon  him  with  silent  insistence  the  fact 
that  they  might  be  all  to  each  other?  Was  he  thinking  of 
Ada  ?  What  spell  did  she  throw  over  men,  that  they  should 
care  more  for  her  heartlessness  than  for  the  fidelity  of 
other  women! 

"  You  seem  tired,"  she  said  as  they  stood  together  on 
the  deck  watching  the  gulls  about  the  stern  of  the  boat. 

"  I've  been  through  Christmas  service  and  a  family 
dinner,"  he  said  with  a  ghost  of  a  smile. 

He  roused  himself  to  a  forced  animation,  which  she  recog- 
nized too  clearly.  Oh,  if  she  might  but  charm  him !  What 
song  did  the  sirens  sing?  Experience  had  taught  her  that 
good  works  in  themselves  have  little  fascination,  and  that 
in  the  mysterious  ledgers  of  the  universe  the  balance  is  often 
handed  to  the  debtor  and  not  the  creditor.  Reading  and 
observation  both  had  shown  her  that  the  magnetic  forces 


134  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

which  draw  people  together  seldom  proceed  from  ordered 
righteousness,  but  are  one  with  the  wandering  winds  of 
the  spirit,  charming  and  refreshing  whomsoever  they  list. 
Patricia  longed  for  that  enchanting  power  to  breathe 
through  her. 

"  Tell  me  about  Polly,"  she  said  at  last.  "  What  is  she 
like?" 

His  eyes  grew  tender.  "  She's  like  spring  violets,  or  little 
gay  birds,  anything  sweet,  or  swift  on  the  wing." 

Patricia  found  this  out  for  herself  later ;  found,  too,  that 
Polly  was  depending  on  motherhood  to  effect  a  reconcilia- 
tion with  the  aloof  kinsfolk  of  Carmichael  House.  -They 
might  resist  her.  They  couldn't  resist  a  baby. 

Of  this  dainty  lever  she  spoke  in  hushed,  excited  tones 
to  Patricia,  to  whom  her  sympathies  had  at  once  gone  out. 
The  nature  of  their  conversation,  the  intimacy  of  their 
meeting  carried  them  far  on  the  road  of  friendship.  Pa- 
tricia was  already  promising  to  be  with  Polly  when  she 
should  need  her  in  that  month  of  retirement  and  royalty. 

It  was  Patricia  herself  who,  on  a  day  in  the  last  week 
of  March,  called  Neal  from  The  Courier  office  to  perform 
his  part  in  the  emergency  of  notifying  the  Carmichael 
family  that  Polly  was  desperately  ill.  Their  assembling 
might  be,  indeed,  for  a  farewell  of  her. 

Neal,  thoroughly  frightened  and  filled  with  remorse  that 
his  preoccupations  had  kept  him  away  from  his  cousin 
during  the  past  few  weeks,  hurried  uptown.  William  Sidney 
admitted  him.  What  Polly  had  met  or  was  meeting,  noth- 
ing in  the  profound  silence  of  the  house  told  Neal.  Sidney 
whispered,  "  She's  under  ether  now." 

Out  of  one  of  the  rooms  Patricia  emerged,  with  the  air  of 
a  person  wearied  by  a  long  battle.  Her  face  was  pale,  her 
eyes  hollow.  She  did  not  even  glance  at  Neal,  but  he 
caught  at  her  dress  like  a  child  as  she  passed  him.  "  Pa- 
tricia, is  there  danger  ?  " 

She  made  an  effort  for  self-control  before  she  replied, 
"  I  am  afraid  there  is.  Have  you  telephoned  ?  " 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  135 

Neal  sent  peremptory  messages,  first  to  Maria,  then  to 
the  others.  "  Come  at  once,  or  regret  it  all  your  life,"  he 
said  to  Mrs.  Guthrie. 

When  he  had  finished  he  found  Patricia  at  his  elbow. 
She  whispered  to  Neal  that  the  child,  a  boy,  had  died  a 
few  minutes  after  its  birth. 

Maria  had  brushed  by  Neal  in  the  passage,  her  eyes  rings 
of  fire,  her  face  gray  with  some  anguish  deeper  than  grief. 
They  admitted  her  to  Polly,  who  had  not  yet  been  told  of 
her  child's  death.  Yet  across  the  dim  tides  to  which  she 
was  now  yielding,  as  to  a  cradle  where  all  her  pain  could 
be  forgotten,  there  came  to  her  the  intimation  that  someone 
was  passing  with  her,  or  had  passed.  She  turned  her  eyes 
to  Caecilia  with  the  question  in  them  it  would  take  all 
Caecilia's  strength  to  answer. 

"  My  Precious "  she  began,  but  could  say  no  more. 

She  turned  to  Neal,  half  pushed  him  towards  the  bed ;  and 
now  Polly  was  looking  at  him  with  the  little  feeble  smile, 
the  unspoken,  tender  question. 

"  Darling,"  he  whispered,  then  stumbled,  as  Csecilia  had. 
He  looked  imploringly  at  Mr.  Griffin,  who  took  his  place, 
and,  bending  over  Polly,  said :  "  Have  you  prayed,  dear  ? 
Have  you  asked  God  to  forgive  you  all  your  sins  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Uncle  David." 

"  Do  you  remember  long  ago  it  was  asked,  '  Is  it  well 
with  the  child  ?  '  And  the  answer  came,  '  It  is  well.'  " 

She  had  been  always  quick  to  understand,  and  she  under- 
stood now.  A  strange  expression  passed  over  her  face,  a 
long,  eager  mother-look,  directed  to  nothing  in  the  room. 
She  could  but  swiftly  follow  the  little  pilgrim  spirit. 

Her  faltering  breath  seemed  held  only  to  welcome  the 
three  absent  ones  who  arrived  at  last,  Mr.  Carmichael, 
full  of  woe,  but  erect ;  Jack,  gray  and  shivering,  yet  of  stern 
enough  metal  to  bend  over  his  niece  and  smile  and  say, 
"  Little  Polly !  "  while  he  caressed  her  hand. 

She  looked  about  her  with  a  kind  of  exultation,  for  they 
were  now  all  assembled;  but  her  growing  weakness  drew 


I36  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

her  eyes  back  again  to  her  husband's  face,  and  on  that  com- 
munion of  husband  and  wife  the  scene  ended.  The  boy 
who  had  never  known  that  he  was  poor,  knew  at  last  that 
he  was  beggared. 

The  next  day  the  house  on  the  hill  was  thrown  open  wide 
for  her.  Neal,  beyond  tears  now,  thought  continually  of 
Peter. 

Remorse  kept  her  grandfather  close  to  her  bier,  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  her  inscrutable  beauty.  Polly,  so  recently  a  little 
thing  of  curls  and  ribbons,  was  majestically  compelling 
homage,  as  she  lay  in  the  light  of  the  candles,  while  prayers 
were  said  that  seemed  to  the  listeners  like  a  deepening  of 
the  silence :  "  De  profundis,  Domine !  Lo,  I  go  swiftly 
out  of  this  world  who  abided  in  it  but  a  brief  space,  and 
now  I  seek  to  know  Thy  further  will,  I  and  the  child  that 
Thou  gavest  me.  De  profundis,  Domine !  Lighten  our 
darkness,  for  upon  our  eyes  the  earthly  sun  has  set." 

Late  in  the  evening  a  step  was  heard  in  the  hall.  Delia, 
appearing  in  the  doorway,  beckoned  to  Neal.  Going  out, 
he  saw  a  haggard  face.  It  was  Peter.  The  two  friends 
extended  trembling  hands  to  each  other,  all  rancor  swept 
away. 

"  Go  in,"  Neal  whispered. 

Two  days  later  the  vault  of  the  Carmichael  family  in  the 
church  by  the  marshes  received  Polly  and  her  baby.  Neal 
could  not  bear  to  return  to  the  darkened  house,  and  Peter, 
linking  an  arm  in  his,  asked  that  they  might  walk  together 
on  and  on  through  the  bleak  air — on  and  on,  away  from 
the  dim  church  and  its  graves. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THEY  followed  a  lonely  road  that  led  southward  from 
the  church.  For  a  long  time  neither  spoke.  Peter  was 
reserving  what  he  had  to  tell  until  they  could  find  shelter 
somewhere.  A  few  days  ago  he  had  regarded  the  news 
he  was  soon  to  deliver  as  a  well-deserved  blow  for  Neal 
Carmichael.  Now,  himself  crushed  and  bleeding,  his  sole 
desire  was  that  his  old  friend  should  hear  the  facts  gently 
from  his  lips. 

"  Let's  stop  here,"  he  said,  as  they  came  to  a  low  stone 
house  by  the  roadside,  one  of  the  old  French  inns  of  the 
Island. 

Neal,  chilled  through,  welcomed  the  snugness  of  the  corner 
where  their  host,  a  voluble  Frenchman,  ensconced  them.  A 
bright  fire  was  burning  in  the  grate.  They  spread  numbed 
hands  to  it.  Peter  called  for  something  to  warm  them. 

The  two  were  groping  towards  each  other  through  their 
grief,  but  they  could  say  little.  As  people  do  who  come 
together  after  an  estrangement,  they  spoke  commonplaces. 
Neither  mentioned  Polly. 

"  I've  something  to  tell  you,"  Peter  said  at  last.  "  I 
thought  I'd  better  tell  you  than  have  you  hear  it  from 
others." 

Neal  knew  what  was  coming  and  stiffened  himself  for 
the  blow.  He  had  been  expecting  this  news  for  weeks, 
since  no  further  word  had  come  from  Ada. 

"  Ada's  engaged  to  Wentworth,"  Peter  announced. 

Neal  turned  a  little  so  that  Peter  could  not  see  his  full 
face.  He  made  no  answer. 

Peter  avoided  looking  at  him  for  a  moment  to  give  him 
time  to  recover  himself;  then  as  Neal  continued  silent,  he 
went  on : 

"  It's  tough  luck,  but,  God  knows !  I  think  you're  better 


138  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

off.  I'm  fond  of  Ada  as  a  cousin  can  be,  but  she  needs 
somebody  with  a  bit  of  the  brute  in  him  to  master  her. 
Wentworth  has  that  quality.  You  haven't.  She'd  wear  you 

out." 

Though  Neal  might  have  answered  that  she  had  worn 
him  out  already,  had  he  been  in  a  position  to  think  clearly, 
he  'scarcely  thought  at  all.  The  numbness  in  which  Polly's 
death  had  left  him  was  only  deepened. 

Peter  reached  a  hand  across  the  table.  "  Don't  take  it 
too  hard,  old  chap.  Ada  was  always  a  flirt.  I  think  she's 
marrying  Wentworth  for  his  family  connections.  He's  re- 
lated to  titles." 

"  So  I  understand." 

She  was  gone  forever!  Her  physical  absence  had  been 
well-nigh  unendurable  to  him.  Now  a  deeper  pit  was  dug 
between  them,  into  which  he  must  cast  the  wreck  of  his 
whole  romantic  fortune.  He  had  been  a  credulous  fool, 
creating  out  of  his  yearning  fancy  a  woman  who  did  not 
exist. 

"  Forget  her,"  Peter  said. 

Neal  made1  no  answer.  He  poured  himself  another  glass 
and  drank  it  down  eagerly. 

When  Neal  came  out  of  the  feverish  oblivion  next  day 
he  was  still  at  the  inn  and  Peter  was  still  with  him,  a 
comforting  presence.  Fleming  had  done  nothing  to  restrain 
his  friend,  believing  that  a  nature  like  Neal's  had  better 
take  its  plunge  into  fire,  and  have  it  over  with,  than  smolder 
unhealthily  for  months.  He  had  telephoned  his  own  and 
the  Carmichael  family  that  he  and  Neal  were  off  for  a  short 
trip,  and  this  was  the  first  thing  he  told  Neal  when  the 
latter  struggled  slowly  back  to  consciousness. 

Peter  regarded  him  affectionately,  with  something  like 
remorse  in  his  eyes.  Neal,  in  his  broken  mutterings,  had 
said  things  that  reproached  Fleming,  revealing  states  of 
mind  too  sacred  to  be  shared,  and  over  which  Peter  intended 
to  draw  a  veil  even  from  himself. 

Putting  his  hands  to  his  head,  Neal  encountered  an  object 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  139 

smooth  and  cold — an  ice  bag.  There  was  a  smell  of  strong 
coffee  in  the  air,  and  now  Peter  was  approaching  him  with 
a  restorative.  Memory  returned,  and  with  it  pain  and 
acute  concern  for  those  he  had  forgotten.  He  had  deserted 
them  all  to  drink  from  the  springs  of  hell,  that  Ada's  face 
might  be  blotted  out  in  flame. 

He  tried  to  rise,  but  felt  too  weak.  He  reproached  him- 
self for  keeping  Peter  a  prisoner,  but  Peter  replied  that  he 
was  glad  to  be  shut  out  of  things.  The  stock  market  could 
go  to  the  dogs !  When  Neal  felt  up  to  it,  they  would  go 
on  to  Endville,  get  to  the  city  by  a  circuitous  route  and 
return  on  the  ferry. 

Through  the  watches  of  the  ensuing  night,  as  Neal  lay 
wide  awake  listening  to  Peter's  heavy  breathing  in  the  next 
room,  his  mind  went  wearily  over  the  events  of  the  past 
year.  All  pain  was  gone  now.  Ada  had  retreated  so  far 
that  she  resembled  the  mist  after  sundown.  Only  one  face 
came  clearly  and  with  comfort  to  him — Patricia's.  It 
steadied  him  to  think  of  her,  of  her  goodness,  her  simplicity, 
her  quiet  work  for  others,  her  beautiful  friendship  for  him — 
for  him,  so  unworthy.  He  resolved  to  make  amends  to  her, 
to  show  her  his  deep  gratitude  for  her  ministrations  to 
Polly — Polly  !  little  white  flower !  Patricia  would  be  sacred 
forever  to  him  because  of  her  presence  at  that  bedside.  Ah, 
good  women  left  the  soul  tender,  as  an  enchantress  could 
never  do.  Polly  had  been  good!  Patricia  was  good.  He 
linked  them  with  a  blessing  in  his  mind,  as  at  last  he  went 
to  sleep. 

Entering  the  oppressively  silent  house  next  day,  he  was 
met  in  the  hall  by  Patricia.  She  put  a  finger  to  her  lips  and 
led  the  way  to  the  morning  room.  Her  eyes  were  pityingly 
upon  Neal,  whose  haggard  looks  betrayed  some  grief  greater 
than  that  for  his  dead  cousin.  Patricia,  who  had  that  morn- 
ing learned  of  Ada's  engagement — news  to  her  like  visible 
sunshine  in  the  grieving  house — could  not  but  connect  his 
absence  at  this  critical  time  with  the  announcement  from 
England. 


I4o  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  You  are  staying  here,  Patricia  ? "  Neal  asked  in  a  voice 
that  expressed  both  surprise  and  pleasure. 

"  They  wanted  me  to  be  with  Mrs.  Guthrie  for  a  while." 

"How  is  she?" 

"  She  weeps  continually." 

Neal  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  And  it  is  so  useless ! 
Did  Mr.  Sidney  go  back  ?  " 

"  Immediately  after  the  funeral.  I  have  asked  Father 
Carew  to  say  a  Mass  for  Polly,"  she  added  softly. 

"  Have  you,  Patricia  ?  That  was  dear  of  you."  Then 
he  added,  "  You  do  believe,  don't  you  ?  " 

She  smiled  at  what  seemed  to  her  the  innocence  of  the 
question.  "  What  would  be  the  use  of  all  this  muddle  if 
they  didn't  go  on — didn't  find  their  way  back  to  God  some- 
how ?  " 

She  spoke  earnestly,  her  clear,  pale  face  alight  with  some 
inner  conviction  that  he  envied,  he,  the  tool  of  hostile  hands, 
the  sport  of  the  Riddle — not  of  God,  but  of  woman.  Ada 
believed  nothing;  but  Patricia  might  unite  him,  if  not  to 
her  own  faith,  then  to  faith  in  life  again — in  the  "  going 
on,"  that  road  traveled  by  the  obscure  majority,  because 
some  Power  not  of  their  making  had  set  their  feet 
upon  it. 

The  sound  of  billiard  cues  striking  against  balls  reached 
them.  Neal  looked  inquiringly  at  Patricia. 

"  It's  Mr.  Jack,"  she  explained.  "  Mr.  Divine  dropped 
in  for  a  game  with  him.  He  has  been  so  kind !  He  under- 
stands your  people ;  I  mean,  he  knows  what  to  say,  to  do." 

"  We  are  not  much  of  a  success  as  a  family,  are  we, 
Patricia?" 

He  was  thinking  how  nobly  human  and  impersonal  she 
looked  in  her  white  linen  dress,  above  the  throat  of  which 
the  delicately  poised  head  seemed  too  small  for  the  full, 
columnar  neck;  the  neck  of  a  goddess.  No  wonder  they 
had  kept  her  with  them,  this  girl  who  suggested  no  rank 
of  life,  only  human  efficiency,  poised  judgment  and  warm 
sympathy.  Prejudices  must  fade  before  her  as  a  matter 
of  course. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  141 

His  remark  seemed  to  puzzle  her.  She  had  dealt  with 
too  many  people  not  to  see  that  this  household  was,  in  some 
deep  and  critical  sense,  morally  disorganized.  Even  Philip, 
whose  grave,  gentle  ways  and  abstracted  air  put  Patricia 
at  her  ease,  even  this  mild  scholar  seemed  to  have  found 
no  golden  clew  to  existence  on  his  wanderings  through  the 
elder  world.  Pagan  traditions  had  but  brought  to  his  mind 
"  visions  unbelievable  and  fair." 

"  I  am  afraid  there  are  more  troubles  ahead  of  us,"  Neal 
went  on.  "  Did  you  know  the  house  was  mortgaged  and 
may  come  under  the  hammer  any  time  ?  " 

Patricia  flushed,  for  she  knew  far  more  than  Neal  real- 
ized of  the  financial  state  of  the  Carmichaels.  Thomas 
Murphy  never  allowed  her  to  forget  it.  Only  an  hour  ago 
he  had  summoned  her  to  the  telephone  with  jealous  inquiry 
for  her  well-being,  with  veiled  innuendo  that  her  services 
might  not  be  remunerated. 

To  Neal  she  said  earnestly,  "  Work  to  save  it." 

"  I  can't  make  money  fast  enough.  I  am  afraid  the  crash 
will  come  before  I  can  do  anything." 

It  was  a  relief  to  him  to  be  talking  to  her  thus  confi- 
dentially. With  Ada  he  had  always  the  sense  that  to  speak 
of  difficulties  would  be  as  useless  as  to  complain  of  nerves 
to  the  Venus  of  Melos.  She  could  not  comprehend  trouble 
except  as  a  piece  of  news,  but  Patricia  had  lived  vicariously 
the  tragedies  and  struggles  of  many  people. 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Unconsciously  she  had  uttered  the  great  wish  of  her  life ; 
but  her  eyes,  dilated  with  yearning  expectancy,  told  more 
than  her  words.  Neal,  whose  recent  experiences  had  left 
him  a  prey  to  every  emotion,  seized  her  hands  impulsively. 

"  I'm  glad  you're  here !  "  he  broke  out.  "  I  wish  we  could 
keep  you  always." 

She  might  have  soared  on  the  wings  of  his  wish,  but  her 
professional  common  sense  told  her  that  Neal  was  not 
wholly  himself  these  days.  Electrifying  words !  But  she 
wanted  to  hear  them  when  the  emotionalism  of  grief  and 
gratitude  had  passed.  She  knew  Neal's  family  clung  to  her 


I42  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

just  because  they  were  not  themselves.  Grief,  like  joy, 
has  an  intoxication  all  its  own,  in  which  people  say  strange 
things,  and  give  themselves  to  wandering  impulses,  and 
pass,  flame-like,  to  scorch  other  hearts  through  their  own 
pain. 

"  Don't  you  remember  how  you  dismissed  me  when  I  was 
a  little  girl?"  she  said  with  a  look  he  did  not  altogether 
understand. 

"  Surely,  Patricia,  you  don't  hold  that  against  me !  " 

"  No !  but  we  can't  be  Rosicrucians  again — can  we,  Mr. 
Divine  ?  "  she  added  in  a  voice  half-wistful,  half-humorous, 
for  Divine  and  Jack  had  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  reviving  your  old  society  ?  " 

"  Who  were  they,  anyway,  Divine  ?  "  Neal  asked. 

Divine  looked,  not  at  Neal,  but  at  Patricia,  as  he  an- 
swered, for  in  her  sensitive  face,  just  now  luminous  and 
beautiful  with  emotions  she  could  not  conceal,  he  read 
capacity  for  suffering  as  well  as  for  love. 

"  The  Rosicrucians  ?  They  were  followers  of  the  Red 
or  Rosy  Cross,  blood-stained,  I  suppose,  as  most  crosses 
are.  '  And  they  followed  Christ  to  the  stars/  as  the  in- 
scription in  one  of  the  churches  in  Rome  says  of  its  own 
saints.  That  sums  it  up,  I  think,  unless  you  want  to  dig 
into  forgotten  books.  It  was  a  secret  order,  mystic,  Chris- 
tian. You  and  Neal  might  play  at  it  again." 

He  spoke  as  if  they  were  little  children,  with  a  tenderness 
in  his  voice  drawn  from  no  source  known  to  them. 

Patricia  responded  with  a  brightening  of  her  eyes,  a  flush 
of  her  cheeks  which  said  as  plainly  as  words  that  any  game 
played  with  Neal  would  be  most  pleasing  to  her. 

"  It  doesn't  sound  lively  to  me,"  Jack  commented  out  of 
his  usual  irrepressible  longing  for  immediate  pleasure  and 
stimulus.  He  was  living  in  a  queer,  sad,  minor  world  these 
days,  but  the  shock  of  Polly's  death  had  cleared  his  brain 
wonderfully.  He  had  done  good  work  in  the  Market  as 
a  consequence  and  beat  Divine  at  billiards — no  mean  feat ! 
He,  too,  felt  the  exhilaration  of  grief,  the  contagion  of  high- 
strung  nerves ;  was  inclined  to  moralize  and  regret  his  life, 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  143 

without  being  actually  sorry  for  it.  His  meditations  had 
simmered  down  at  last  to  a  kind  of  quiet  content  that  Polly 
was  out  of  a  miserable  world,  and  that  the  family  could 
cherish  the  image  of  one  of  its  members,  at  least,  whose 
life  had  been,  in  Jack's  judgment,  perfect. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

WHEN  Ada's  cards  of  sympathy  reached  the  family,  Neal 
saw,  unmoved,  her  familiar  handwriting.  It  was  like  the 
chirography  of  one  dead,  unlamented  and  almost  forgotten. 
He  told  himself  he  was  glad  to  be  released  from  a  love  that 
was  half  fever. 

Patricia  remained  four  weeks  with  the  family.  Though 
he  actually  saw  but  little  of  her,  the  consciousness  of  her 
nearness  was  comforting  to  him.  He  had  many  brief 
glimpses  of  her  as  she  went  about  the  house  with  her 
wonderfully  quiet  and  sustaining  manner.  She  fitted  into 
the  singular  household  so  perfectly  that  she  seemed  an 
integral  part  of  it.  Delia,  who  loved  Patricia,  glowed  with 
satisfaction  over  this  eminence  to  which  she  had  been 
raised,  marshaling  the  servants  to  attend  her  slightest 
direction. 

After  her  return  home,  Neal  had  a  more  personal  asso- 
ciation with  her,  and  they  slipped  easily  to  the  old  shoulder- 
to-shoulder  companionship.  They  discussed  her  poor,  the 
weekly  progress  of  Jim  and  Lil  on  their  road  to  rehabilita- 
tion, and  his  own  newspaper  work,  taking  pleasure  in  cor- 
relating their  efforts  that  The  Courier  might  voice  certain 
problems  of  municipal  reform.  Patricia  had  the  pleasant 
sense  of  being  behind  the  scenes,  stimulating,  suggesting, 
even  contributing.  Whenever  she  read  an  editorial  of  Neal's 
which  seemed  to  embody  the  results  of  some  of  her  own 
investigations,  she  felt  a  thrill  of  exultant  pride. 

She  was  glad  that  Neal,  being  in  mourning,  must  absent 
himself  from  social  affairs.  Beneath  her  happiest  moment 
was  always  a  vague  fear  of  the  world  Ada  represented. 
She  hoped  the  fair-haired,  statuesque  woman  would  never 
return  to  her  own  shores. 

Whether  Neal  thought  of  her  or  not  Patricia  could  not 

144 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  145 

tell.  He  seemed,  as  was  indeed  the  truth,  emptied  of  all 
emotion.  She  scarcely  realized  how  strongly  he  was  in- 
trenched in  an  abstract  world  during  this  period.  Theory 
was  febrifuge  to  him.  Father  Carew,  whom  he  met  often 
at  the  McCoys',  tried  gently  to  impress  his  imagination  with 
the  authority  and  power  of  the  Catholic  Church,  but  Neal 
as  gently  declined  that  aged  influence.  As  far  as  he  leaned 
to  any  church  at  all,  it  was  to  the  one  in  which  he  had 
been  reared.  Something  in  his  own  reserved  temperament 
responded  to  that  wistful  institution,  so  averse  to  probing, 
so  aloof  in  its  ministrations  to  the  children  it  dared  not 
draw  too  closely  to  its  bosom.  But  behind  its  ivied  towers 
stretched  the  inexplicable  universe.  Who  among  the  grop- 
ing, blundering  children  of  men  knew  the  secret  of  this 
Universe's  procreative  pains?  Surely,  Neal  thought,  not 
kindly,  rotund  Father  Carew,  amid  his  incense  fumes  and 
his  candles ;  surely  not  gentle  Mr.  Griffin,  treading  so  quietly 
the  circle  of  the  church  year. 

Divine  must  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  secret,  since  of 
all  men  he  seemed  to  endure  the  universal  loneliness  with 
the  lightest  heart.  Neal  would  have  liked  to  ask  his  chief 
concerning  these  matters,  for  he  knew  Divine  had  from  time 
to  time  gone  to  the  East  for  some  light  which  he  believed 
dwelt  there.  He  had  studied  with  the  Swamis  in  India. 
He  had  traveled  through  Northern  Africa,  where  he  had 
become  acquainted  with  forgotten  branches  of  the  Eastern 
Church — the  fantastic  Church  of  Abyssinia,  the  brooding 
Church  of  Egypt.  He  had  written  of  them  in  the  vein 
of  the  casual  traveler,  but  Neal  suspected  that  Divine  was 
searching  for  more  than  historical  evidence  of  the  Christian 
tradition. 

Neal  approached  the  older  man  these  days  chiefly  on  sub- 
jects of  more  pressing  importance,  admitting  him  to  full 
knowledge  of  the  family  affairs  and  of  his  own  ambitions. 
It  was  easier  to  talk  about  money  to  Divine  than  to  most 
men,  because  he  did  not  immediately  begin  to  look  askance 
as  if  he  were  afraid  one  wanted  to  borrow  of  him ;  nor  did 
he  get  jovial  and  excited,  like  Jack,  as  if  one  had  mentioned 


,46  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

champagne.  He  spoke  of  it  as  he  did  of  the  harvests  or 
the  weather. 

They  were  seated  one  June  midnight,  after  the  Sunday 
paper  had  gone  to  press,  in  Divine's  own  office,  to  which, 
through  the  open  windows,  came  faintly  the  street  sounds 
of  the  city.  Divine  had  been  talking  of  a  recent  political 
crime,  but  without  rancor.  He  always  seemed,  in  the  very 
heat  of  conflicts,  to  be  quite  undisturbed  himself,  as  if  he 
were  looking  beyond  the  immediate  issue. 

Lighting  a  cigar,  he  passed  his  case  to  Neal. 

"No?" 

"  I'm  not  smoking." 

"Health?" 

"  Pocketbook." 

Divine  regarded  him  thoughtfully.  "  What  are  you  trying 
to  do,  Neal — economize?" 

"  I  suppose  that  mortgage  has  gotten  on  my  fool  brain." 

"You  don't  think  for  an  instant,  old  fellow,  that  your 
personal  economies  are  going  to  help  any  ?  Let  Jack  whistle 
the  fortune  back  if  he  can.  If  he  can't — well,  there  are  other 
fortunes." 

"  I'd  like  to  have  some  fun,"  Neal  said.  "  There  must 
be  a  laugh  in  life  somewhere." 

"  Take  a  playmate." 

Neal's  eyes  brightened.    He  thought  of  Patricia. 

"  And  forget  the  mortgage  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  can't  see  what  good  you  will  do  by  remembering  it." 

Neal  went  home  with  a  lighter  step  than  he  had  had 
for  weeks,  free  of  the  suffocating  sense  of  responsibility, 
but  synchronous  with  the  dropping  of  his  burden  was  Pa- 
tricia's assumption  of  it.  She  debated  with  herself  for  some 
days  whether  she  should  go  to  their  old  family  doctor, 
Thomas  Murphy's  father,  and  ask  him  the  exact  truth  about 
the  mortgage,  and  whether  he  intended  ever  to  foreclose. 
Her  hesitation  in  the  matter  was  due  to  her  fear  of  self- 
betrayal.  Dr.  Murphy  sympathized,  of  course,  with  his 
son's  ambition  to  marry  Patricia,  and  would  immediately 
suspect  her  of  undue  interest  in  the  Carmichael  family. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  147 

She  could  scarcely  influence  him  to  spare  them  if  he  thought 
her  concern  for  them  was  disadvantageous  to  the  hopes  of 
his  own  son. 

In  this  divided  state  of  mind  she  went  one  day  to  see 
Uncle  Shamus,  to  whom  she  had  spoken  little  of  Neal  since, 
a  year  before,  the  old  mariner  had  told  her  the  story  of 
"  the  fairy  wells."  But  she  was  conscious  that  all  the  pene- 
trative strength  of  his  good  eye  was  focused  on  her  when- 
ever she  carelessly  mentioned  the  Carmichael  family.  To 
his  fancy,  Neal  was  the  mythical  "  Lord  of  the  Manor." 

Though  it  was  a  summer  day,  a  drizzle  had  kept  Shamus 
indoors.  Within  his  little  den  the  damp  was  bringing  out 
strange,  fishy,  leathery  odors,  and  Patricia  sniffed  doubt- 
fully. 

"  That's  the  trained-nurse  look ! "  Shamus  chirped. 
"  Open  the  windey  if  you've  a  mind  to." 

"  The  air's  close,  dear." 

"  Wait !  I'll  breeze  it  up  for  ye,  girl,  with  a  rose  garden 
out  of  the  Arab  land." 

Patricia  waited  expectantly  while  Uncle  Shamus  stumped 
his  way  to  a  mysterious  black  chest,  from  whose  depths 
he  brought  out  a  phial  of  milky  glass.  Uncorking  it,  true 
to  his  promise,  he  released  the  imprisoned  ghost  of  myriad 
roses.  Telling  her  to  hold  out  her  palm,  he  allowed  a  drop 
of  the  oil  to  fall  upon  it.  Patricia  inhaled  the  fragrance. 

"  'Twill  bide  by  you  a  week  or  so.  The  Arab  man  that 
sold  it  to  me  swore  'twas  a  royal  oil.  It's  sweet  enough 
for  God's  Mother — whether  he  lied  or  no — and  Solomon's 
seal's  on  the  wax.  See  ?  " 

Patricia  having  accepted  this  anointing,  Shamus  seemed 
quite  content  to  have  her  arrange  the  room  as  she  would. 
She  came  at  last  and  sat  down  by  him,  drawing  his  with- 
ered hand  into  hers. 

"  You're  home  again  ?  "  he  questioned. 

"  Yes,  Uncle." 

"  Were  they  good  to  ye,  on  the  hill  there  ?  " 

"  Very  good." 

"  Would  you  like  to  live  there  for  the  rest  of  your  days  ?  " 


i48  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

A  bright  flush  overspread  her  face.  "  Why  do  you  ask 
that?" 

"  Because  you  always  were  an  up-goin'  girl.     Tell  truth 

now." 

"  They  may  come  down  to  meet  me,  Uncle.  The  Car- 
michaels  are  not  as  rich  as  you  think." 

"  Ben't  they  ?  But  they'll  not  come  down.  Pride'll  uphold 
'em.  The  lad  now — is  he  a  generous  one  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  fine  lad.  Listen,  dear ;  let  us  play  the  old  game 
of  pretending.  Let's  pretend  that  someone  loved  me  better 
than  anyone  else  in  the  world,  and  that  I  lived  in  a  spacious 
house  with  him,  and  there  were  gardens  looking  to  the  sea. 
And  at  night  we  watched  the  ships  and  the  stars,  and  lis- 
tened to  music,  and  walked  through  stately  rooms.  Other 
people  would  be  with  us,  some  wandering  off  to  read, 
some  to  talk.  Good-nights  at  last,  with  doors  shutting, 
like  our  old  good-nights  at  home,  only  a  bed  for  everyone, 
warmth,  and  light,  and  no  getting  up  for  early  breakfast  but 
lying  lazily  until  one  was  really  happy-awake,  not  tired- 
awake,  or  duty-awake,  but  glad-awake !  " 

"  Millionaires !  "  murmured  Shamus. 

"  No,  just  people  with  leisure  to  be  gay  and  kind." 

"Be  you  tired,  Pat?" 

"  A  little  tired  of  sorrow,  of  poor  people.  I  want  to 
be  with  the  rich  and  content.  You  never  heard  of  Watteau, 
dear.  He  was  a  painter,  and  one  picture  he  painted  was  of 
cavaliers  and  ladies  getting  into  a  boat  to  go  to  Cythera — 
some  happy  island." 

"  Never  heard  of  it  and  sixteen  times  round  this  globe ! 
Is  it  for  that  you're  wishful  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  those  Silken  ladies,"  Patricia  said  with  a  smile, 
"  and  for  little  loves  in  the  trees,  and  music,  and  a  long 
rest.  Why,  Uncle,  I've  never  stopped  since  I  was  born; 
always  cases  and  trouble,  and  why  did  someone  beat  his 
wife,  and  who  wants  soup  or  flannels — just  a  nurse's  day. 
I  want  beauty." 

"  Ah,  colleen !  " 

He  sighed  and  took  a  long  whiff  at  his  pipe.     Then 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  149 

another  sigh.  "  Oireland's  beautiful — mayhap  that's 
Cythera.  But  when  you  gather  flowers  of  the  wind,  they 
sigh  away  through  your  hands.  Best  forget  and  marry  the 
lad  Thomas." 

"  Oh,  no !  no !  " 

Almost  upon  her  words  Dr.  Murphy  entered  on  his 
weekly  visit  to  Shamus. 

"  Hello,  Patricia !  "  he  said  cheerily.    "  Glad  to  see  you." 

He  shook  hands  with  her,  and  they  chatted  for  awhile 
about  Shamus  and  Patricia's  work.  Thinking  to  lead  the 
conversation  to  the  subject  uppermost  in  her  mind,  she 
spoke  of  the  Carmichaels. 

"  Is  Jack  Carmichael  keeping  up  with  the  mortgage,  Doc- 
tor ?  "  she  asked  boldly  at  last. 

"  Jack  gives  me  promises  of  interest,"  the  Doctor  replied 
rather  shortly. 

"Will  you ?" 

She  could  not  get  the  word  "  foreclose "  out,  but  he 
understood.  He  looked  intently  at  her  for  a  moment,  then 
said  with  some  asperity,  "  Have  they  been  talking  to  you, 
up  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  but  they  are  in  such  trouble  now." 

The  Doctor's  mind  was  switched  immediately  to  a  pro- 
fessional view-point.  "  I  was  talking  to  Godwin  the  other 
day  about  Miss  Guthrie's  case,"  he  went  on.  "  I  mean 
Poily — I  don't  know  her  married  name;  but  complications 
like  hers  shouldn't  be.  The  girl  was  young,  apparently 
well.  These  old  families  play  the  deuce  with  their  women 
— over-civilized,  too  fine-fibered.  The  Carmichaels  need 
new  blood." 

Suddenly  the  application  of  his  words  seemed  to  occur 
to  him,  or  he  had  noted  Patricia's  quick,  penetrative  look. 
He  began  to  speak  of  his  son  Thomas. 

Late  one  afternoon  in  the  last  of  June,  Neal  and  Pa- 
tricia were  strolling  through  a  lane  that  followed,  at  some 
distance,  the  curves  of  the  sea-marsh  channels,  into  which 
the  tide,  like  overlapping  sheets  of  silver,  was  now  brightly 


I5o  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

flowing.  An  old,  dark  tide-water  mill  stood  like  a  heavy 
shadow  in  the  bright  June  sunshine,  and  Patricia  suggested 
that  they  go  down  and  explore  its  interior  as  she  had  often 
wished  to. 

So,  leaving  the  lane,  they  followed  a  tiny  path  through 
an  old  orchard.  Beyond  the  orchard  was  a  low,  quaint 
abandoned  farmhouse,  shingled  all  over  with  the  broad, 
handmade  shingles  of  an  early  day. 

"  Did  you  know  that  we  own  this  land  ? "  Neal  said. 
"  This  house  and  all  these  marsh  meadows  ?  " 

"  Why,  that's  a  fortune  in  itself,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  no  good  for  real  estate,  and  the  sedge 
grass  is  scarcely  fit  for  bedding  cattle.  Jack  had  some  wild 
scheme  to  get  the  mill  going  again,  but  the  channel  would 
have  to  be  dredged.  There's  a  whole  menagerie  of  lions 
in  the  way  of  the  scheme,  as  there  is  in  the  way  of  all 
of  our  plans.  No  one  will  rent  this  house,  even;  too 
lonely." 

"  But  what  a  view  over  the  marshes !  How  near  St. 
Anne's  looks — just  a  step." 

"  I  wish  one  could  live  on  views,"  Neal  said  ruefully. 
"  But  these  marshes  are  glorious.  I  don't  think  we  Islanders 
always  appreciate  them." 

They  entered  the  cool  twilight  of  the  mill,  whose  great 
timbers  seemed  capable  of  holding  it  together  another  cen- 
tury. Through  its  little-paned  windows  the  sunlight  en- 
tered, a  subdued  radiance  powerless  to  disperse  the  odd 
chill  of  the  place,  which  smelled  of  seaweed  and  rotting 
sawdust. 

Suddenly  Neal  caught  her  arm.    "  Take  care,  Patricia." 

They  had  paused  on  the  very  edge  of  a  yawning  hole  in 
the  floor — a  long  oblong  where  the  planking  had  given  way. 
About  a  foot  beneath,  the  water  ran  in  swift  motion,  a 
green  darkness  flecked  with  foam. 

He  drew  her  closely  to  him  and  together  they  leaned 
over  it,  peering  into  its  depths  with  the  curiosity  of  chil- 
dren. Patricia  was  the  first  to  draw  back  with  a  shiver. 

"Afraid?  "Neal  asked. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  151 

"  I  had  the  sensation  that  long  white  arms  came  up 
and  clutched  at  me,  and  drew  me  down." 

Neal  laughed.     "  That's  the  Irish  of  you,  Patricia." 

She  did  not  smile.  "  When  you  see  the  Nameless  Ones, 
you  have  to  go,  Neal." 

He  whistled.  "  And  you  are  the  young  lady  that  lectures 
to  the  poor  on  germs  and  sterilization;  but  never  a  bit  of 
fairy-lore  do  you  give  to  your  idol,  the  East  Side.  You're 
a  deceiving  colleen,  for  all  your  frank  looks." 

He  had  brought  the  smile  to  her  eyes  at  last ;  and,  gazing 
at  each  other,  some  deep  longing  in  both  their  spirits  spoke 
— hers  for  him,  his  for  rest,  for  oblivion.  If  she  could 
give  it  to  him  was  she  not  the  appointed  woman  with 
healing  in  her  touch  ? 

When  they  went  out  again  into  the  June  sunshine,  Pa- 
tricia drew  a  long  breath  as  if  she  would  imbibe  the  last 
glories  of  the  day,  its  refulgence,  its  ineffable  fecundity 
of  green  and  growing  things.  The  smoldering  fire  within 
her  was  ready,  at  a  breath,  to  soar  into  flame. 

Neal  read  her  love  in  her  eyes,  in  her  soft,  hesitant  ges- 
tures, in  the  dreamy  inattention  of  her  mood,  as  if  some 
inner  sense  was  alert,  seeking  to  lift  the  curtain  of  the 
casual  from  their  communion  and  find  its  heart  and  core. 
His  defeated  passion  was  drifting  towards  her,  and  in  her 
devotion  he  was  anesthetizing  his  spirit. 

They  returned  to  the  lane  whose  sinuous  windings  ended 
in  a  meadow  foamed  with  daisies  and  fringed  with  old  fruit 
trees,  bent  like  little  ancient  men.  A  bright  vocal  brook 
crossed  scimitar-fashion  about  an  acre  of  the  meadow,  sep- 
arating it  from  the  crumbling  walls  of  a  deserted  house. 
The  afternoon  inviting  them  to  further  explorations,  they 
crossed  the  stream  on  a  narrow  swinging  bridge  and  seated 
themselves  on  the  steps  of  the  house,  over  which  a  syringa 
bush,  a  mass  of  white  blossoms,  cast  a  wavering  shade. 
On  the  lintel  of  the  door  above  them  two  robins  were 
discussing  the  affairs  of  housekeeping. 

"  Hear  the  fat  rascals !  "  Neal  said.  "  You  would  think 
we  had  asked  them  to  take  us  as  summer  boarders." 


I52  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  location !  " 

"And  you  say  that  to  a  commuter,  with  the  trolley  a 
mile  away.  Oh,  Patricia,  you're  getting  to  be  a  most  im- 
practical person." 

"  Look  at  that  solemn  frog  on  the  bank  with  his  clean, 
cool  white  vest  and  green  surcoat  Oh,  don't  shy  a  stone 
at  him.  Why !  you're  nothing  but  a  naughty  little  boy." 

"Have  you  only  just  found  that  out,  Patricia  dear? 
God  knows  whether  I'll  ever  be  anything  else." 

"  Who  wants  to  grow  up  on  a  June  afternoon !  Just  be 
happy." 

Her  face  was  radiant  with  untempered  hope,  with  tender 
prophecies. 

"  My  dear,  I  don't  look  for  happiness." 

"  I  do !  " 

She  voiced  her  declaration  with  gay  boldness,  the  color 
coming  and  going  in  the  delicate  oval  of  her  cheeks.  He 
glanced  at  her  admiringly,  for  he  had  never  seen  her  so 
sweetly  confident  of  herself,  so  beautiful,  with  an  elusive 
disturbing  value  in  her  glances,  a  quality  of  the  expectant 
in  her  smile.  It  became  her  to  relax,  to  forget,  to  drift 
with  the  careless  world  of  June  and  share  its  sunny  insou- 
ciance. Women  won  beauty  that  way,  and  robed  themselves 
in  the  mysterious  habiliments  of  sex,  as  they  could  not  do 
through  good  works,  with  their  sharp,  literal  outlines. 

Neal  watched  her  with  brooding  thoughts  of  her  essen- 
tial preciousness  beyond  and  above  the  fleeting  accidents  of 
mere  beauty,  such  beauty  as  Ada  possessed,  for  which  one 
must  supply  a  soul.  No-  need  for  that  in  Patricia's  case, 
for  the  spirit  was  always  signaling,  inviting,  leading  on. 
Seldom,  indeed,  did  she  follow  the  mood  of  the  hour  as 
in  this  scented,  bird-haunted,  lonely  spot,  with  its  caressing 
sound  of  water  running  smoothly  over  broad,  worn 
stones. 

The  robins  went  on  with  their  domestic  discourse.  The 
giant  shadows  of  great  trees  stretched  towards  the  empty 
east  where  hung  a  moon  thin  as  a  wafer.  The  stream  swept 
on  to  the  sea.  A  wind  stole  out  of  the  wood  and  tossed 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  153 

the  syringa  branches  for  a  moment,  then  was  still.  In  the 
house  behind  them  were  faint  noises.  The  meadow  with  its 
drifts  of  daisies  lay  placid  in  the  sun.  The  imperfect  ac- 
complishment of  romance  seemed  to  Neal  in  itself  a  guerdon 
— if  not  the  skies,  then  the  earth;  if  not  exotics,  then  the 
flowers  of  the  field. 

Patricia  broke  a  long  silence  at  last  with  a  trivial  ques- 
tion. "  How's  Mr.  Fleming?  "  She  was  a  little  jealous  of 
Peter,  who  was  much  with  Neal  these  days,  as  if  in  hungry 
atonement  for  lost  time. 

"  He's  well ;  boiling  busy  as  usual,  and  yet  always  so 
casual.  Peter  knows  the  trick !  He's  delightful — old,  crafty 
broker  that  he  is.  I'm  a  mere  baa-sheep  beside  him,  Pa- 
tricia, but  we  get  on  like  a  breeze." 

"And  Mr.  Sidney?" 

"  He  went  West  this  week  to  establish  himself  in  Oregon. 
He  couldn't  stand  the  city  after  Polly's  death.  He  came 
to  see  my  aunt,  and  she  wept  over  him,  while  he  endured 
it,  somehow,  though  the  ironic  quality  of  the  occasion  must 
have  been  borne  in  upon  him.  I  suppose  he'll  have  to  marry 
again  some  day;  he's  so  discordantly  young  to  be  a  wid- 
ower." 

"  Polly's  a  haunting  memory,  even  to  those  who  didn't 
know  her  well.  I  don't  think  he'll  forget  her  soon,"  Pa- 
tricia commented.  She  liked  to  speak  of  Polly,  through 
whom  she  always  seemed  nearer  to  Neal.  For  a  little 
while  they  bent  regretful  heads  over  the  asphodel,  Neal 
with  the  sudden,  vivid  thought  that  this  girl  by  his  side 
was  indeed  his  little  cousin's  legacy  to  him. 

After  a  while  they  strolled  on  with  the  happy  careless- 
ness to  which  the  afternoon  was  keyed,  Patricia  bearing  an 
armful  of  fragrant  syringa  blossoms.  A  lonely  wood  re- 
ceived them  next,  through  which  the  sun,  near  to  its  setting, 
darted  long  arrows  of  light.  The  healing  stillness  about 
them  was  reflected  in  Patricia's  eyes,  in  her  quiet  on- 
going, step  by  step,  as  if  her  patience  could  hold  him  poised 
to  the  end  of  his  days,  her  love  preclude  him  from  ever 
again  knowing  desolation.  They  wandered  on  and  on, 


i54  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

feeling  like  two  children  who  keep  the  dark  away  by  whis- 
pers and  touches. 

Their  footsteps  fell  slower  as  the  wood  shut  them  in. 
The  world  and  its  noises,  the  populace  and  its  frenetic 
problems,  lay  far  behind  them,  who  had  need  at  least  of 
each  other's  courage  and  tenderness,  and,  one  of  them,  of 
the  peace  that  follows  tempest. 

Neal  paused  at  last  in  the  path,  at  a  point  where  the 
trees  shut  them  in  with  circular  walls  of  green.  His  eyes 
sought  hers  with  grave  inquiry,  with  a  question,  to  answer 
which  her  heart  leaped  in  exultation.  She  faced  him,  pale 
as  the  flowers  she  held,  her  throat  strained  back  a  little, 
her  eyes  doubtful,  yet  ready  to  believe  at  a  look,  a  sign 
from  him. 

"  Patricia,"  he  said  gently,  "  Patricia,  dear,  need  we  be 
apart  ?  Couldn't  we  have  each  other " 

Her  face  became  as  luminous  as  that  of  a  saint  at  last 
admitted  and  beatified  in  the  heavenly  courts  of  her  aspira- 
tion. Her  lips  parted  to  drink  rapturously  what  was  a  river 
of  life  to  her — his  invitation  to  companion  him  through 
the  long,  sweet  stretches  of  all  the  time  to  come.  She  had 
not  dared  to  believe  those  words  could  be  uttered,  and  now 
they  filled  this  forest  with  their  resonance  and  witched  her 
soul  out  of  her  body  to  his  feet.  They  were  not  the  words 
of  a  lover,  but  she  only  knew  that  through  them  she  was 
touching  the  summit  of  earthly  bliss, — and  paradise  could 
hold  no  more. 

"  Will  you  have  me,  Patricia  ?  "  he  said  with  a  humility 
that  was  unfeigned.  He  did  not  believe  himself  worthy 
of  her. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  she  stole  towards  him — a  maid 
in  ecstasy.  He  drew  her  into  his  arms  and,  scarcely  breath- 
ing, she  put  her  hands  clasped  as  in  prayer  against  his 
shoulder  and  hid  her  face  a  little. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MR.  CARMICHAEL  received  the  news  of  his  grandson's  en- 
gagement to  Patricia  McCoy  without  opposition,  for  he  felt 
none.  Since  Polly's  death,  some  nerve  in  his  nature  had 
ceased  to  vibrate  to  old  ambitions,  he  having  now  only  the 
negative  fear  that  he  should  live  to  see  the  downfall  of  his 
house.  Since  Neal  had  not  known  how  to  conquer  Ada 
it  mattered  little  whom  he  married,  so  that  the  girl  was 
healthy  and  honest. 

Jack  was  inclined  to  be  jocular,  for  he  had  always  liked 
Patricia,  so  he  dubbed  Neal  "  Peter  the  Great,"  declaring 
that  the  House  of  Carmichael  needed  an  infusion  of  the 
blood  of  the  people.  What  else  it  needed  he  refrained  from 
reminding  his  nephew,  but  Peter  was  keeping  Neal  ac- 
quainted, at  the  latter's  urgent  request,  with  the  financial 
state  of  the  family.  He  confided  to  him  one  evening  that 
to  his  certain  knowledge  all  of  the  Carmichael  fortune — 
or  what  was  left  of  it — was  involved.  The  prosperous  Dr. 
Murphy  down  in  the  village,  who  had  both  inherited  and 
made  money,  had  it  in  his  power  to  foreclose  the  mortgage 
at  any  time  and  compel  Alexander  Carmichael  at  the  age 
of  eighty  to  leave  his  home. 

Neal  groaned  over  the  recital. 

"  Your  being  married  or  not  being  married  doesn't  count 
that,"  Peter  said  with  a  snap  of  his  fingers.  "  Only  a  big 
sum  would  be  of  use  now ;  I  mean  to  cover  everything  and 
start  fresh,  with  a  wall  back  of  you.  And  who's  to  come 
forward  with  it?  There's  no  use  of  my  lending  money 
to  Jack.  It  would  be  like  pitching  it  into  the  bay." 

"  I'll  go  to  the  Doctor  myself,"  Neal  said. 

"  And  you  proud  as  Lucifer,  old  boy.  No !  Don't  bite 
the  dirt  to  that  Irishman." 

Recollecting,  too  late,  that  Patricia  was  Irish,  Peter  col- 

155 


i56  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

ored,  and  shifted  the  subject,  saying  carelessly,  after  awhile : 
"  I  had  a  letter  from  Ada  to-day ;  her  marriage  has  been 
postponed  again." 

He  watched  to  see  the  effect  of  this  announcement  upon 
Neal,  who  changed  color,  and  with  an  effort  at  nonchalance, 
said :  "  Any  date  set  ?  " 

"  No.    I  sometimes  think  it  will  never  come  off." 

Neal  rose,  walked  to  the  window,  and  stood  looking  out 
into  the  night,  his  back  turned  to  Peter.  He  was  ashamed 
of  the  emotions  aroused  by  this  prophecy,  he  just  pledged 
to  a  wonderful  woman.  He  had  believed  his  feeling  for 
Ada  dead  and  gone.  Now,  at  the  mere  suggestion  of  her 
being  free,  he  was  quivering  in  every  nerve,  the  prey  of  a 
perfect  pack  of  wolfish  memories. 

Patricia,  meanwhile,  like  a  lady  in  a  fairy  tale,  walked 
on  gold  and  breathed  a  golden  air.  Before  telling  her 
family  the  great  news  she  went  to  church  and,  kneeling 
at  the  shrine  of  the  Virgin,  thanked  God's  Mother  for  her 
great  gift  and  prayed  to  be  worthy  of  Neal. 

At  home  she  was  treated  like  a  princess.  James  McCoy 
had  always  been  proud  of  his  daughter ;  but  this  surpassed 
his  most  ambitious  dreams  for  her.  That  Patricia  should 
be  chosen  by  a  member  of  one  of  the  proudest  families  on 
the  Island  seemed  her  right,  yet  scarcely  credible  outside 
of  the  covers  of  a  book.  Her  brothers  and  sisters  hung 
about  her  wide-eyed,  gazed  at  her  with  new  interest,  to  see 
in  what  the  magic  consisted.  Their  Patricia  was  to  be  a 
fine  lady,  to  live  in  the  great  house  on  the  hill,  to  have 
carriages,  servants.  Neal  Carmichael  would  be  their 
brother-in-law.  Only  Mrs.  McCoy  seemed  to  be  outside 
the  general  rejoicing;  she  already  wondered  how  Neal's 
aunts  would  receive  Patricia.  To  be  sure  they  had  shown 
her  attentions  since  Polly's  death,  but  that  might  be  only 
gratitude.  To  welcome  her  to  the  family  would  be  a  dif- 
ferent matter. 

But  both  Csecilia  and  Maria  called  upon  Patricia  within 
a  week.  Maria  could  no  longer  fight  against  Providence ; 
and  to  Csecilia  whatever  Neal  did  was  right.  Both  had 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  157 

the  thought  that  after  the  marriage  Patricia  could  be  ab- 
sorbed in  the  Carmichael  family,  leaving  her  own  behind. 
They  could  find  no  fault  with  her  manner  or  her  speech. 
She  was  shy  with  them,  but  diffidence  under  the  circum- 
stances was  a  virtue. 

Patricia,  dining  in  state  for  the  first  time  with  the  Car- 
michaels,  wore  a  simple  but  costly  evening  gown,  which 
her  proud  father  had  insisted  upon  her  having  in  honor  of 
the  occasion.  Neal,  full  of  admiration  of  her,  thought  she 
appeared  beautiful  and  distinguished  enough  for  a  royal 
court.  Mr.  Carmichael  watched  her  with  growing  appro- 
bation. He  had  planned  other  things  for  his  grandson,  but 
this  girl  looked  as  if  she  were  cast  in  heroic  mold.  Some 
element  of  strength  in  her  nature  appealed  to  the  ancient 
head's  love  of  the  eagle  qualities.  But  Patricia's  ablest 
advocate  was  the  remorse  for  Polly  in  which,  like  a  trance 
holding  their  blood  from  its  accustomed  channels,  the  family 
still  dwelt — a  remorse  which  for  the  time  obliterated  world- 
liness.  They  had  the  temper  of  flagellants  glad  that  the  rod, 
in  Patricia's  person,  fell  so  mildly. 

After  dinner  Neal  and  Caecilia  conducted  h«r  through 
the  house,  making  a  kind  of  official  visit  to  the  great  library, 
the  picture  gallery,  Polly's  room,  the  old  schoolroom,  the 
conservatories.  Patricia's  exalted  vision  saw  no  tarnish  of 
decaying  grandeur.  She  loved,  as  did  Neal,  the  mellowness 
of  the  great  mansion,  its  sweet,  secretive,  pensive  air,  as  if 
a  perpetual  Indian  summer  warmed  the  walls.  She  would 
be  content,  she  thought,  to  share  one  of  its  garrets  with 
Neal,  so  unwilling  would  she  be  to  place  alien  symbols  in 
these  faded,  flower-scented  rooms.  She  desired  the  day 
when  the  house  would  absorb  her,  take  her  into  its  long 
existence  as  another  link  in  the  chain  that  she  hoped  might 
go  on  forever. 

"  You  like  it,  don't  you?  "  Neal  said.  "  That  will  please 
grandfather.  He  thinks  it  all  sacred,  even  to  the  little 
silver  bowls  they've  used  in  the  nursery  for  generations." 

She  flushed.  Her  eyes  softened.  "  It  is  sacred,"  she 
whispered. 


i58  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

She  could  scarcely  credit  her  own  happiness.  That  the 
dream  of  her  childhood  should  come  thus  wonderfully  true 
seemed  to  present  all  human  life  as  a  fairy  tale  in  which 
even  sin  and  suffering  were  caused,  not  by  the  will,  but 
through  the  malevolence  of  fairy  godmothers.  Patricia, 
who  had  dealt  so  long  with  ugly  facts,  allowed  herself  at 
last  a  glorious  recess,  her  mind  intrenched  in  Utopia  while 
her  hands  ministered  to  trouble.  This  rosy  cloud  in  which 
she  moved  filled  many  a  tenement  with  the  tapestry  of 
dreams.  Neal  was  scarcely  a  mortal  man  to  her.  She 
linked  him  with  forgotten  knights  and  remembered  saints. 

At  her  earnest  request  the  engagement  was  to  be  known 
for  a  while  only  to  the  two  families.  She  dreaded  telling 
Thomas  Murphy  the  wonderful  news,  though  of  late  he  had 
kept  away  from  her  home. 

Meeting  her  by  chance  in  the  town  square  one  day,  her 
rejected  suitor  was  instantly  aware  of  some  subtle  change 
in  her.  By  adroit  questions  he  learned  the  truth. 

The  memory  of  his  face  haunted  her  afterwards,  grim, 
incredulous,  threatening  as  well  as  his  words. 

"  That  man  will  never  make  you  happy,"  he  said. 

No  time  had  been  given  her  to  reply,  for  he  flung  away 
from  her,  careless  of  her,  of  everything  but  his  own  pain. 
He  registered  a  vow  that  he  would  make  the  Carmichaels 
suffer  for  the  robbery  of  his  girl.  That  she  had  never  been 
his  made  no  difference  to  his  heavy  anger ;  desire  was  fact. 

After  a  headlong  walk  he  burst  into  his  father's  office, 
where  Dr.  Murphy  and  Father  Carew  sat  chatting.  Alarmed 
by  his  looks,  they  questioned  him  and  he  told  them  in 
ugly  snaps  the  hateful  news. 

"  Well,  bear  it  like  a  man,  Thomas  lad,"  the  priest  said 
sympathetically.  "  Nothing  but  bad  blood  ever  comes  of 
brooding." 

"  She's  a  world  too  good  for  that  decayed  family,"  the 
young  man  groaned. 

"  The  Lord  may  think  the  Carmichaels  have  need  of  her," 
said  Father  Carew. 

"  She'll  live  with  'em  in  that  house  that  ain't  theirs  and 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  159 

get  to  feel  that  she's  one  of  them,"  said  Thomas  fiercely. 
"  Father,  you  could  foreclose  that  mortgage  any  day." 

Father  Carew  turned  sharply.  "  Don't  revenge  yourself, 
boy.  I  am  fearful  for  you,  the  way  you  are!  Would 
turnin'  a  family  out  of  house  and  home  give  your  girl 
back  to  you?  'Twould  be  the  road  to  her  hatred,  I'm 
thinkin'." 

"  I've  given  my  word  to  Jack  Carmichael  to  do  nothing 
till  Autumn,  Tom,"  his  father  answered,  "and  your  black 
looks  won't  change  me." 

"  Well,  what  I've  seen  of  life,  it's  the  way  of  curses 
comin'  home  to  roost  that's  remarkable,"  the  priest  said 
musingly.  "  Cheer  up,  lad !  Make  her  admire  ye — the  way 
you  be  takin'  it — kind  and  hopeful  for  her  welfare.  Else 
it  wasn't  love,  but  your  own  self-love." 

Thomas,  still  savage,  muttered  his  opinion  of  the  whole 
hill  tribe — interferers,  proud-necked,  ignorers  of  other  men's 
rights.  The  priest  made  a  sign  to  his  father  not  to  stop 
the  current. 

"  Bottled  up,  he'd  be  worse,"  he  said,  and  taking  his 
departure  he  addressed  Thomas.  "  I'll  be  lookin'  for  ye 
at  confession  to-morrow,  me  son,  and  you'll  have  some- 
thing to  confess  this  time." 

Thomas  scowled  at  this  pious  reminder.  What  difference 
did  it  make  whether  he  was  shriven  or  unshriven  now  that 
Patricia  was  lost  to  him ! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  summer  crept  on.  Neal  had  asked  Patricia  to  marry 
him  at  Christmas,  and  she  was  already  beginning  her 
preparations. 

He  told  himself  that  he  was  perfectly  happy.  He  was 
rising  rapidly  on  The  Courier,  being  intrusted  more  and 
more  with  editorials  of  importance.  To  his  satisfaction 
some  of  these  were  widely  copied.  Problems  of  labor 
appealed  to  him  chiefly,  for  he  was  haunted  always  by  the 
Utopian  vision  of  a  universal  adjustment,  from  which 
idealists  are  rarely  free ;  but  his  acceptance  of  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men  released  him  from  partisanship.  The 
tyranny  which  is  latent  in  all  organizations,  whether  of 
labor  or  capital,  as  well  as  the  tyranny  which  is  the  natural 
result  of  society's  self-protections,  was  apparent  to  him. 
His  insight  supplied,  to  a  degree  at  least,  his  lack  of  ex- 
perience ;  the  mind  of  youth,  like  the  feminine  mind,  some- 
times reaching,  by  this  swift,  straight  road,  the  conclusion 
towards  which  heavy-breathing  middle-age  toils  circuitously. 

Divine  gloried  in  the  success  of  his  pupil.  His  own  plans 
included  his  resignation  from  The  Courier  some  well-won 
day  to  enter  the  ministry.  Neal  could  then  take  his  place 
as  a  voice  in  the  wilderness. 

Hard  work  helped  Neal  to  keep  Ada  always  in  that  outer 
twilight  of  the  mind  to  which,  after  his  engagement  to 
Patricia,  he  had  relegated  her  as- a  matter  of  honor.  He 
told  himself  that  Patricia  was  his  mate,  that  they  so  matched 
one  another  in  mind,  in  community  of  interests  and  ambi- 
tions, that  Patricia's  very  presence  contented  him.  But  in 
the  very  act  of  repeating  these  formulas  he  found  himself 
watching  with  a  curious  dread  the  cable  dispatches  from 
London,  lest  they  should  bring  him  the  news  that  Ada  was 
married.  Even  his  meetings  with  Peter  were  tinctured  with 

1 60 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  161 

the  fear  that  Ada  had  communicated  to  her  kinsman  some 
definite  news  of  her  plans.  Peter's  own  private  opinion 
was  that  Neal's  engagement  had  recoiled  upon  Ada  to  the 
disturbance  of  her  peace  of  mind. 

But  the  weeks  went  by  and  nothing  happened.  Neal 
and  Patricia  walked  and  read  together,  or  discussed  the 
daily  problems,  tasting  quiet  pleasures  with  a  relish  appar- 
ently shared.  Patricia  because  of  her  love,  Neal  because  of 
his  absence  of  passion,  scarcely  realized  how  abstract  their 
intercourse  had  become.  An  Italian  would  have  recom- 
mended the  cloister  to  them  both.  The  romance  was  mar- 
morean — it  never  moved,  but  out  of  it  Patricia  continued 
to  carve  a  god. 

Sometimes  Neal  seemed  lifeless,  a  state  she  attributed  to 
his  fatiguing  work;  but  again  she  tortured  herself  with 
doubts  and  questions.  Was  she  satisfying  him?  Did  he 
regret  the  step  he  had  taken? 

Beyond  that  paralyzing  word  her  imagination  never  dared 
to  go.  Not  even  on  the  day  of  her  engagement  had  poor 
Patricia  been  free  of  a  haunting,  elongated  shadow,  stretch- 
ing, indeed,  a  dark  path  across  the  ocean — the  shadow  of 
Ada.  Her  intuitions  as  well  as  certain  things  Polly  had 
let  fall  told  her  what  the  cold,  fair,  unmoved  woman,  who 
had  been  a  cold,  fair  child  with  power  to  hurt,  had  meant 
to  Neal;  but  Patricia,  longing  to  be  deluded,  called  it  an 
infatuation  and  believed  that  Polly's  death  had  cleared  her 
cousin's  vision.  In  the  first  wonder  of  being  chosen  by 
Neal,  Patricia  had  tried  to  forget  that  he  had  ever  inclined 
to  Ada,  but  the  thought  came  back. 

If  only  Ada  were  safely  married !  Patricia,  to  whose 
faithful  and  Catholic  mind  marriage  meant  moral  security, 
watched  for  this  news  as  Neal  watched  for  it,  but  with  a 
fear  reversed.  So  long  as  Ada  was  free  she  felt  that  she 
could  not  be  sure  of  her  own  happiness. 

Neal  never  mentioned  Ada  to  her.  Patricia  speaking 
of  her  one  day,  he  had  quickly  turned  the  subject.  He  still 
relied  on  Patricia  to  guard  him  from  that  memory. 

Besides  his  work  and  his  engagement,  he  had  another 


162  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

thing  to  take  his  mind — the  ever-present  financial  cloud  over 
the  family.  He  had  had  one  or  two  talks  with  his  Uncle 
Jack,  but  these  had  only  resulted  in  Brobdingnagian 
prophecies  of  miraculous  recovery  on  Jack's  part,  madden- 
ingly vague.  From  them  he  gathered  that  Maria's  small 
private  means  were  lost,  she  had  become  a  dependent  upon 
her  brother. 

Neal  was  impatient  to  make  money  faster,  but  the  very 
hopelessness  of  stemming  the  current  kept  him  to  his  chosen 
work. 

Coming  home  one  night  he  sat,  back  to  back,  on  the  ferry 
with  some  workingmen  who  were  talking  of  the  Car- 
michaels,  not  realizing  who  was  behind  them.  Neal  heard 
one  of  them  say :  "  It  would  go  hard  with  the  old  man  to 
leave  the  hill-house." 

The  approaching  crash  was  evidently  a  matter  of  common 
gossip.  That  evening  Neal  went  to  Dr.  Murphy's. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Thomas.  Recognizing  Neal,  he 
divined  what  his  errand  must  be,  and  a  thrill  of  triumph 
went  through  him.  But  his  hate  was  even  stronger  than 
his  sense  of  triumph,  for  Father  Carew  had  not  been  able 
as  yet  to  exorcise  that  demon  from  the  young  man's 
breast. 

"Is  your  father  in,  Mr.  Murphy?"  Neal  inquired,  ig- 
norant of  being  an  offense  to  this  sullen  youth. 

"  No,  he's  out,"  was  the  abrupt  answer.  Thomas  held 
the  door  only  partly  open,  as  he  glowered  at  his  rival. 

"  May  I  come  in  and  wait  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  can,"  was  the  harsh  reply. 

Neal  looked  puzzled,  then  a  light  broke  upon  him.  He 
remembered  that  this  man  was  an  old  admirer  of  Patricia's. 

He  was  turning  reluctantly  away  when  something  in  his 
pale  face  and  passive  manner  touched  a  different  chord  in 
Thomas,  who  flung  open  the  door  with, 

"  I  guess  you  could  go  into  the  office." 

Neal's  remote,  tired  expression  pleaded  for  him  as  an 
unostentatious  victor.  Murphy,  who  had  scarcely  ever  ex- 
changed three  words  with  him,  felt  a  sudden  curiosity  to 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  163 

study  this  young  aristocrat  over  whom  Patricia  had  always 
been  so  crazy.  He  followed  him  into  the  office,  which  was 
stuffy  from  the  heat  of  an  August  afternoon,  and  opening 
a  window  bade  him  be  seated. 

"  Hot  weather,"  Neal  observed. 

"  Very  hot,"  Murphy  agreed. 

"  Mosquitoes  pretty  bad  this  year." 

"  Bad  every  year." 

"  There  are  worse  things,"  Neal  said  with  a  little  smile. 

"  Oh,  hell !  yes,"  Murphy  ejaculated. 

His  hate  was  cooling ;  he  was  afraid  now  he  couldn't  get 
it  back  to  its  proper  pitch.  This  Neal  Carmichael  was  a 
strange  fellow,  to  win  an  enemy,  with  two  words  on  the 
weather.  Murphy  studied  him,  thought  him  too  thin,  won- 
dered if  he  knew  as  much  jiu-jitsu  as  reported. 

"  Ever  wrestle  ?  "  Murphy  asked  craftily. 

Neal,  who  had  leaned  back  his  head  and  closed  his  eyes, 
opened  them  in  some  surprise. 

"  Haven't  done  much  since  I  was  at  college." 

"Want  to  try  now?" 

"  Not  particularly  in  these  clothes." 

"  I  have  a  kind  of  gym.  upstairs." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  wrestle  for  ?  " 

"  I  heard  you  had  those  Japanese  tricks." 

"  Yes,  I  had  a  Jap  trainer  at  Harvard." 

Murphy's  eyes  grew  round  with  appreciation. 

"  I  wish  you'd  show  me  some." 

"  Can't  in  this  rig." 

"  I've  got  trunks  upstairs,  if  you  care  to  strip — shower- 
bath  near.  Father  may  not  come  for  ever  so  long." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  wrestle  for,  this  boiling  after- 
noon ?  " 

"  I  belong  to  a  lodge.  We're  going  to  have  a  picnic 
to-morrow,  and  I'm  entered  for  wrestling  in  the  games." 

"  Oh,  that's  it !  Come  along,  then,  if  I  can  have  a  shower- 
bath  afterwards." 

"  Sure,  you  can." 

Murphy's  freckled  face  was  gay  with  anticipation.     He 


!64  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

loved  sports,  had  been  known  to  leave  Patricia  once  for 
a  cock-fight. 

The  gym.  was  a  great  bare  room  at  the  top  of  the  house, 
filled  with  all  kinds  of  devices  for  developing  muscles.  It 
was  hot  as  Tophet. 

"  Let  me  throw  you  once  or  twice,"  Neal  said  when  he 
was  ready  for  the  encounter,  "  then  I'll  teach  you  the  tricks." 

"  Can  you  throw  me  ?  "  Thomas  said  skeptically,  his  eyes 
on  Neal's  lean  body. 

"  Watch  me." 

They  closed.  Murphy  was  no  mean  antagonist  and  there 
was  enough  of  the  devil  left  in  him  to  long  for  Neal  to  bite 
the  dust.  The  two  were  silently  at  it  for  a  minute,  sway- 
ing, pushing,  twisting,  interlocked  so  that  their  breaths 
mingled  and  the  sweat  from  their  bodies.  Suddenly  Murphy 
found  himself  at  full  length  on  the  floor.  Neal  was  panting ; 
he  was  out  of  practice. 

Murphy  rose  with  enthusiasm.  What  Father  Carew's 
confessional  had  failed  to  do  for  him,  this  sweating  business 
at  Neal's  hands  was  accomplishing. 

"  Let  me  do  it  again,"  Neal  said.  "  It's  best  to  feel  it 
done  to  you  once  or  twice ;  you  can  sense  the  trick  better." 

It  was  harder  work  this  time,  for  Murphy  was  grim- 
jawed  and  wary.  When  Neal  got  him  to  the  floor  at  last  he 
nearly  went  with  him. 

"  Bully  trick,"  Murphy  gasped.    "  Now  teach  me." 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  it  when  Dr.  Murphy  appeared 
in  the  doorway.  He  was  astonished  to  see  Neal  Carmichael, 
whom  he  expected  some  day  Thomas  would  knife,  wrestling 
amicably  with  his  son. 

The  two  wrestlers  paused,  panting.  Neal  advanced  and 
shook  the  doctor's  hand. 

"  Did  you  come  to  teach  Tommie  a  trick  or  two  ?  "  the 
older  Murphy  said  cordially,  for  he  had  always  liked  Neal. 

"  No,"  Neal  answered,  "  I  came  to  ask  you,  Doctor,  if 
you're  going  to  foreclose  the  mortgage  on  my  grandfather's 
house  ? " 

"  He  ain't,"  said  a  voice  behind  them. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  165 

Young  Murphy  had  spoken.  Seven  devils  had  gone  out 
of  him  in  the  wrestling  match,  and  his  heart  felt  lighter. 

Neal  walked  home  as  if  on  air.  For  the  time  being,  at 
least,  he  could  draw  a  long  breath.  It  was  good  to  have 
won  the  doctor's  son,  and  better  yet  to  learn  that  Dr. 
Murphy  intended  to  do  nothing  hasty.  He  and  Neal  had 
talked  the  matter  over  explicitly,  with  the  result  that  Neal 
learned  more  in  half  an  hour  than  he  had  gathered  from 
months  of  Jack's  vagueness.  The  doctor  would  be  satisfied 
with  certain  payments  for  the  present,  and  Neal  guaranteed 
they  should  be  forthcoming.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
borrow  from  Peter. 

He  telephoned  Peter  that  evening  asking  for  an  inter- 
view, and  in  a  few  minutes  was  on  his  way  to  the  Fleming 
house.  Peter  heard  what  he  had  to  say  without  comment. 
Neal's  proposition  was  for  an  indefinite  loan  at  a  high  rate 
of  interest  which,  because  of  the  recent  increase  in  his 
salary,  he  could  absolutely  guarantee. 

"  It's  only  a  sop,  I  know,  but  if  I  can  ward  off  trouble 
from  grandfather  with  sops  until  his  death,  I  don't  care  what 
happens  then." 

Peter  considered  the  matter  coolly,  for  he  was  too  good 
a  business  man  to  take  chances  even  with  such  a  dear  friend 
as  Neal.  He  finally  gave  his  consent. 

"  It's  only  a  drop  in  the  bucket,  as  you  say,"  he  com- 
mented, "  but  it  will  keep  the  roof  over  your  grandfather's 
head." 

Matters  arranged,  Peter  proceeded  to  another  subject 
which  he  was  rather  reluctant  to  broach  to  Neal,  since  he 
had  no  desire  to  see  this  recovered  friend  thrown  to  the 
lions.  Peter,  who  had  been  in  constant  communication  with 
Ada  through  the  summer,  had  been  able  through  his  long 
knowledge  of  her  to  read  between  the  lines  of  her  letters. 
He  had  always  felt  that  her  visit  to  England  was  but  a 
move  on  a  chessboard,  a  move  that  had  not  had  the  antici- 
pated result.  Ada's  state  of  mind,  if  Peter  judged  rightly, 
was  just  her  realization  that  her  revenge  through  Went- 


!66  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

worth  had  been  overdone,  and  she  had  quitted  her  enter- 
prise.   Neal  might  as  well  be  told.    He  would  hear  it  sooner 

or  later. 

Peter  was  no  hand  at  circumlocution.  He  delivered  his 
news  bluntly.  "  Ada's  broken  her  engagement,"  he  said. 

Neal  took  out  his  cigarette  case  with  an  assumption  of 
indifference,  but  Peter,  hawk-eyed,  saw  that  his  fingers 
trembled,  and  that  he  blundered  over  his  light. 

"  When  did  you  hear  that  ?  "  Neal  asked  with  a  voice  that 
was  not  quite  steady. 

Peter  handed  him  a  letter. 

Perhaps  Ada  had  thought  of  just  such  a  contingency, 
for  the  letter  was  couched  in  phrases  that  cut  Neal  to  the 
heart;  they  breathed  homesickness,  wistfulness,  failure  to 
be  satisfied  with  existence.  She  would  remain  in  England 
awhile,  she  said,  though  there  was  no  place  on  earth  so  dear 
as  the  Island.  She  saw  its  hills  in  her  dreams. 

Peter  didn't  believe  any  of  this,  but  to  Neal  it  was  the 
voice  of  his  old  love  crying  for  forgiveness.  His  whole 
being  responded ;  theories  melted  as  snow  in  spring.  For  an 
instant  he  forgot  Patricia;  when  he  remembered  her  he 
knew  that  the  price  of  his  honor  would  be  almost  the  price 
of  his  life.  He  loved  Ada  only,  good  or  bad,  temptress 
or  saint,  he  craved  her  as  the  damned  crave  heaven. 

He  could  not  even  reproach  himself,  so  tremendous  was 
the  reaction  towards  her  after  the  artificial  stifling  of  his 
true  emotions  these  past  months;  he  had  never  ceased  to 
love  her ;  he  had  only  been  in  a  trance  of  suffering. 

He  handed  the  letter  back  without  a  word. 

"  I  thought  she'd  give  Wentworth  the  slip,"  Peter  com- 
mented. "  Ada  never  wants  anything  she's  sure  of." 

"  She's  remaining  away,  she  says." 

"  Yes.  I'm  rather  glad  of  it ;  she  and  mother  didn't  hit 
it  off  this  last  year  or  two." 

Neal  scarcely  heard  him.  He  finished  his  cigarette,  said 
good-night  and  went  away  like  a  sleep-walker. 

"  I  hope  to  God  she  stays  away  until  he's  married,"  Peter 
thought. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  167 

Neal  went  home  and  shut  himself  in  his  room.  He  was 
miserably  unhappy,  but  Patricia  must  not  be  made  the  victim 
of  his  blunder.  She  was  too  true,  too  noble  to  be  cast 
aside  because  a  fire  raged  in  his  breast  that  had  been  there 
so  many  years.  He  would  go  on  with  it,  marry  her,  make 
of  his  marriage  a  code,  a  wall,  a  prohibition.  He  came  at 
last  into  the  peace  of  a  firm  resolve,  but  his  brain  was 
numb  from  its  denials. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WHEN  Patricia  saw  in  the  papers  the  news  of  the  break- 
ing of  Ada  Fleming's  engagement,  she  had  a  sense  of  loss 
so  keen  that  it  was  with  an  effort  she  remembered  that 
nothing  was  changed.  She  dreaded  her  next  meeting  with 
Neal  lest  her  sensitive  fears  should  discover  effects  of  these 
tidings  in  him.  Their  community  of  interests,  their  common 
ideals,  were  not  sufficient  to  reassure  her  that  she  was  all 
in  all  to  him.  She  knew  enough  of  life  to  understand  that 
men  do  not  marry  for  a  similarity  of  tastes  and  ambitions 
alone;  that  the  inverted  antagonism  called  passion,  soon 
over  but  while  it  lasts  changing  lives  irrevocably,  was  a 
thousand  times  more  imperious. 

She  was  growing  conscious,  indeed,  that  she  had  never 
swept  Neal  out  of  himself,  never  provided  him  with  the 
stimulus  of  mystery  or  frustration,  or  whatever  it  was  that 
made  a  veiled  Isis  of  a  woman.  Poor  Patricia,  knowing 
that  she  had  a  masculine  directness  and  clarity  of  nature, 
now  envied  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  those  members  of 
her  sex  who  steal  and  wind  their  way  into  the  heart  of 
another,  never  losing  their  own.  But  she  did  not  under- 
stand how  to  do  it.  She  told  herself  bitterly  that  the  merest 
schoolgirl  knew  the  tricks  of  luring  better  than  she. 

In  Neal's  manner  she  could  detect  little  difference,  except 
that  he  seemed  at  times  far  away.  He  called  regularly 
upon  her,  he  sent  her  flowers,  he  observed  every  conven- 
tion of  courtship ;  but  after  every  meeting  she  was  miserable. 

She  realized,  too,  that  she  was  establishing  no  real  bonds 
with  the  family  on  the  hill.  After  their  first  effort  of  kind- 
ness they  not  so  much  changed  as  flagged.  Their  apathy, 
partly  the  result  of  suspense  before  a  crash,  weighed  upon 
her  spirits.  Their  indifference  taught  her  much.  Her  inter- 
course with  them,  slight  as  it  was,  showed  her  more  clearly 

168 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  169 

the  reason  of  class  difference  than  all  her  social  study.  The 
aristocrat  was  no  shadow  for  the  mob  to  blow  away  with 
a  breath,  but  the  product  of  forces  as  real  as  those  back 
of  the  laborer,  and  perhaps  more  enduring,  since  his  intelli- 
gence and  sensitiveness  were,  as  a  rule,  keener. 

Patricia  faced  melancholy  facts,  not  the  least  of  them 
being  the  religious  differences  between  herself  and  Neal, 
who,  when  Patricia  one  day  broached  the  subject  to  him, 
had  flatly  refused  to  change  his  faith  and  had  expressed 
his  desire  that  his  children,  if  any  were  born  of  the  mar- 
riage, should  be  reared  as  Protestants.  This  in  itself  was 
almost  prohibitive  of  union,  for  Patricia,  an  ardent  Cath- 
olic, knew  that  she  could  not  consent  to  such  an  arrange- 
ment. 

She  opened  the  subject  again  one  day  when  Neal  had 
called  to  leave  a  book  for  her.  She  could  scarcely  have 
chosen  a  worse  moment,  for  he  was  worn  out  with  his  own 
doubts  and  perplexities,  with  his  constant  effort  to  keep 
Ada  out  of  his  mind.  Negation  had  its  own  torment ;  the 
stemmed  torrent  overflowed  into  irritated  nerves.  He 
would  ask  Patricia  to  marry  him  in  October  instead  of  De- 
cember. Once  married,  he  would  be  safe.  But  before  he 
could  open  the  subject,  Patricia  broached  the  religious 
question.  Neal,  with  a  feeling  of  impatience,  exclaimed : 

"  Can't  we  drop  that,  Patricia !  " 

"  You  know  what  it  means  to  me ;  I  can't  share  your  indif- 
ference on  these  matters." 

There  was  a  hard  ring  in  her  voice,  the  result  of  her 
bitterness  over  a  gulf  of  which  this  church  topic  was  but  a 
symbol. 

He  spoke  of  other  things,  asking  her  prosaically  at  last 
if  she  would  marry  him  in  October,  since  there  was  no 
reason  why  they  should  wait. 

For  a  moment  her  heart  beat  high.  October  was  so  near, 
so  divinely  near ! 

"  I'll  marry  you  whenever  you  want  me  to,"  she  answered, 
her  voice  joyous,  her  eyes  suddenly  alive  again. 

But  gazing  into  his  face  she  saw  only  abstraction  there. 


1 70  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

It  was  all  so  inexplicable !  Why  did  he  want  to  hurry  the 
marriage?  And  why  did  he  appear  so  indifferent  to  the 
delight  the  proposal  gave  her  ? 

Unconsciously  he  sighed.  He  was  standing  by  an  open 
window  looking  out  towards  the  water,  his  expression  lifeless 
and  abstracted.  Patricia,  with  the  instinct  of  the  unhappy 
to  blunder,  said  at  last,  "  Why  do  you  want  the  marriage  in 
October?" 

"  What  is  in  the  way  ?  "  he  returned. 

"  Nothing's  in  the  way,  only  " — she  hesitated — "  only  I'll 
have  to  be  certain  of  some  things  before  I  marry." 

"  I  tell  you,  Patricia,  I  can  make  no  promises.  I  should 
come  first,  my  dear,"  he  added. 

"  It's  not  the  same  with  you — you  are  not  a  believer." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am !     Not  in  your  way,  perhaps." 

The  coldness  creeping  between  them  hurt  her,  tortured 
her.  She  could  not  bear  it.  Father  Carew  might  go — the 
Church  might  go — her  salvation  might  go!  She  wanted 
Neal  Carmichael ! 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  like,  dearest,"  she  said  suddenly. 

She  took  a  step  towards  him,  her  arms  extended  a  little, 
but  he  made  no  motion  towards  her,  and  she  saw  that  his 
spirit  had  slipped  away  again  to  something  of  far  more 
interest  to  him  than  the  rival  claims  of  the  Latin  and 
Anglican  churches.  Jealousy  scourged  her. 

"  Neal,  what  makes  you  so  far  off — so  cold  ?  " 

He  faced  her,  startled  out  of  his  abstraction  by  the  edge 
in  her  voice.  "  October,  then !  "  he  said. 

His  voice  had  a  click  in  it  as  if  he  were  shutting  a  door. 
He  set  his  mouth  grimly.  Suddenly  she  began  to  cry.  To 
his  astonishment,  to  his  embarrassment,  he  saw  her  quiver- 
ing with  emotion  and  inexplicable  tears.  The  spectacle  swept 
him  out  of  his  self-absorption  into  penitent  realization  that 
he  must  be  hurting  her  or  she  would  not  weep  so.  With 
a  lover's  protestations  he  gathered  her  into  his  arms,  holding 
her  closely,  murmuring  soothing  words  over  her. 

"  Patricia,  darling,  you  shiver  so !  Oh,  never  cry  like 
this  again;  it  makes  me  feel  like  a  murderer," 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  171 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  McCoy  entered  the  room.  She  had 
never  been  quite  happy  over  her  daughter's  engagement, 
partly  because  Neal  was  a  Protestant,  partly  because  of 
her  old  theory  that  no  real  community  of  interests  existed 
between  the  hill  and  shore  dwellers  on  the  Island.  Even 
if  Patricia  were  happily  married,  she  must  lose  her  as  a 
daughter,  since  her  family  must  not  become  a  source  of 
embarrassment  to  her  in  her  new  life. 

Observing  the  traces  of  tears  on  Patricia's  face  and  Neal's 
anxious  looks,  she  wondered  if  the  two  had  been  having 
a  lovers'  quarrel,  or  whether  the  disturbance  indicated  a 
real  crisis.  Neal  hastened  to  reassure  her. 

"  I've  come  to  urge  our  marriage  for  October,  Mrs. 
McCoy,"  he  said,  as  if  to  explain. 

"  And  you're  crying  over  that,  Patricia !  " 

"  No,  Mother !    It's  all  right ;  I  was  just  foolish." 

"  Can  you  get  her  ready,  Mrs.  McCoy  ?  " 

"  I'll  have  to,  I  suppose,  if  you  are  both  bent  on  that 
month,"  she  replied  with  maternal  stoicism. 

Her  calm  eyes  were  studying  Neal's  face  and  their  gaze 
made  him  uncomfortable. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  Patricia's  ordeal.  Slowly  to- 
wards her  crept  the  knowledge  that  Neal  was  not  in  the  least 
in  love  with  her.  For  awhile  she  tried  to  make  herself 
believe  that  she  could  win  him  after  marriage;  that  the 
foundation  of  his  respect,  affection  and  esteem  would  serve 
their  mutual  happiness  better  than  storm  clouds  of  passion. 
But  her  attempt  failed.  Endowed  with  clear  insight — 
sometimes  more  a  hindrance  than  a  help  in  human  affairs — 
afflicted  with  a  masculine  sense  of  justice  seldom  possessed 
by  women  in  whom  the  luring  instinct  is  strong,  Patricia 
could  not  deceive  herself. 

What  was  to  be  done?  She  knew  that  Neal  would  keep 
his  word,  no  matter  how  he  felt ;  but  what  joy  could  there 
be  in  such  a  union !  She  had  hours  when  she  reproached 
him  bitterly  in  her  thoughts  for  ever  leading  her  to  the 
gates  of  paradise  if  she  was  now  forbidden  to  enter.  Why 


1 72  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

had  he  done  it?  What  was  his  motive  in  asking  her  to 
marry  him? 

She  judged  rightly  at  last  that  it  had  been  reaction  from 
some  shock,  probably  the  combined  shocks  of  Polly's  death 
and  Ada's  engagement.  Going  over  all  the  weeks  before 
the  day  in  June  when  Neal  had  proposed  to  her,  she  remem- 
bered little  things  that  had  made  but  slight  impression  at 
the  time  and  which  now,  in  perspective,  loomed  significantly. 
Neal,  making  a  desperate  effort  of  effacement,  had  used  her 
for  the  screen  between  his  soul  and  his  desire. 

She  told  herself  until  her  mind  was  weary  with  reitera- 
tion that  she  must  not  substitute  for  Neal's  happiness  her 
own  intense  desire  of  this  marriage.  If  she  loved  him  at 
all,  she  loved  him  well  enough  not  to  cripple  him — but, 
God  knew,  it  was  hard! 

Yet  better  to  give  him  up  than  to  have  him  live  to  be 
weary  of  her!  Their  religious  differences  were  but  an 
incident.  She  knew  that  a  great  love  bridges  everything, 
that  to  an  unequal  love  every  obstacle  is  magnified. 

It  was  now  the  beginning  of  October,  the  month  in  which 
she  had  promised  to  marry  him,  but  that  star  of  marriage 
had  been  swallowed  in  chaos,  Neal  having  said  nothing 
further  to  her  on  the  subject.  Patricia  told  her  mother  that 
the  date  had  been  postponed  and  Mrs.  McCoy  was  too 
content  to  have  it  so  to  ask  questions,  though  she  suspected 
that  all  was  not  going  well  between  the  lovers. 

Patricia  took  a  long  walk  one  day  in  an  effort  to  clear 
her  brain.  The  road  she  chose  was  an  old  lane  leading  to 
the  sea  and  ending  near  a  lighthouse  about  which  were 
grouped  a  few  fishermen's  houses.  Passing  these,  she  went 
straight  to  the  beach  where  one  could  walk  for  miles  on 
the  hard  brown  sand. 

The  sun  was  very  bright,  the  sea  blue,  the  sand  glistening ; 
but  the  glory  mocked  her  inner  darkness.  What  should  be 
her  destiny,  since  life  meant  only  Neal  Carmichael,  since 
at  the  end  of  every  avenue  she  saw  his  face?  She  could 
become  a  nun,  perhaps,  offering  to  God,  as  so  many  nuns 
had  done,  the  ashes  of  earth's  fires. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  173 

"  Dies  irae,  dies  ilia, 
Solvet  saeclum  in  favilla." 


The  old  Latin  words  knelled  in  her  brain.  Would  not  God 
reject  an  offering  bitter  with  disappointment?  The  blood 
coursed  too  rapidly  in  her  veins  for  the  negations  of  the 
cloister. 

A  curve  of  the  beach  brought  her  at  last  to  a  half- 
rotting  pier,  close  to  which  was  a  seaside  hotel.  As  she 
came  opposite  the  long  porch,  now  empty,  a  familiar  figure 
emerged  from  the  main  entrance  and  came  down  the  porch 
steps.  She  recognized  Jack  Carmichael. 

The  encounter  was  too  direct  for  either  to  avoid  it.  Jack 
lifted  his  hat;  then,  seized  with  genuine  concern  that  she 
should  be  off  by  herself  in  this  lonely  spot,  he  advanced 
towards  her.  His  errand  to  the  hotel  had  been  the  rather 
extraordinary  one,  for  him,  of  paying  a  long-standing  ac- 
count for  bygone  fish  suppers,  so  it  was  with  a  clear  con- 
science that  he  approached  Patricia. 

"  You  shouldn't  be  down  here  by  yourself,  Miss  McCoy," 
he  said  formally. 

"  I  wanted  a  walk,"  she  replied. 

"  You  shouldn't  walk  in  such  lonely  places." 

"  Nothing  could  hurt  me — and  I  shouldn't  care  any- 
way." 

She  scarcely  knew  what  impelled  her  to  speak  so  frankly, 
except  that  in  Jack's  battered  personality  there  was  some- 
thing finely  sympathetic.  Whether  through  the  touchstone 
of  his  sins  or  of  his  neglected  virtues,  he  understood  more 
than  the  other  members  of  his  family,  even  more  than  his 
idealistic  nephew  Neal. 

"  May  I  walk  with  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

As  they  proceeded  he  turned  kindly,  inquiring  eyes  upon 
her,  for  he  had  always  liked  her  with  the  kind  of  liking 
he  gave  good  women — impersonal  yet  sincere.  She  was 
miles  beyond  Ada  in  character  and  could  hold  her  own 
with  that  blond  beauty  in  looks,  but  of  late  Jack  had  had 
his  suspicions  that  his  nephew  was  again  in  the  thrall  of 


174  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

an  old  delusion.    Was  it  a  similar  suspicion  that  had  robbed 
this  girl's  cheeks  of  their  color,  her  step  of  its  elasticity? 

Patricia  meanwhile  was  resolving  to  ask  her  companion 
some  questions  that  had  racked  her  for  weeks ;  for  she  felt 
instinctively  that  Jack  could  be  trusted  to  hold  his  tongue 
on  a  matter  of  real  seriousness.  By  the  circuitous  route  of 
a  man  of  pleasure  he  had  attained  a  few,  at  least,  of  the 
Christian  virtues. 

They  plodded  on  together,  Jack  a  little  out  of  breath 
in  his  effort  to  keep  pace  with  this  girl  who  seemed  driven 
along  by  some  inner  torment,  like  a  black  wind,  in  whose 
spirals  she  was  captive.  Pausing  at  last,  she  led  the  way 
to  some  timbers  of  a  wrecked  vessel  protruding  from  the 
sands.  On  one  of  these  she  seated  herself. 

"Tired?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Neal." 

"May  I  smoke?" 

"  Certainly." 

She  seemed  doubtful  how  to  begin,  and  sat  in  silence  for 
a  while,  her  hands  clasped  rigidly  about  her  knees.  Jack 
smoked  and  waited.  He  had  admirable  tact  with  women. 

"  Mr.  Carmichael "  she  began  at  last.  "  Will  you 

give  me  a  truthful  answer  if  I  ask  you  something?  " 

Jack  looked  alarmed.  Truth  was  always  associated  in  his 
mind  with  trouble. 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  he  answered. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  if  Neal  is  in  love  with  Miss  Fleming  ?  " 

Jack's  first  gallant  instinct  was  to  answer,  "  My  dear,  he 
is  in  love  with  you  " ;  but  Patricia's  mournful,  seeking  eyes 
forbade  inappropriate  gallantry. 

He  floundered  a  little,  then  came  out  with,  "  Neal  doesn't 
know  what's  best  for  him." 

She  was  answered.    The  chill  crept  nearer  to  her  heart. 

"  In  that  case,"  she  said,  "  it  is  not  for  me  to  say  what 
is  best  for  him." 

Her  voice  sounded  ghostly,  faint  and  far-off.  Jack's  pity 
was  stirred,  but  he  was  himself  a  fatalist  in  the  matter  of 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  175 

human  passion.  There  was  but  one  remedy  for  Neal's  dis- 
ease— to  marry  Ada.  Anything  short  of  marriage  was 
merely  to  multiply  illusions. 

"  You've  not  quarreled,  have  you?  "  he  asked,  for  lack  of 
something  better  to  say. 

"  Quarreled  ?    Oh,  no !    Quarrels  don't  part  people." 

He  waited  again ;  she  would  perhaps  tell  him  more. 

Patricia  went  on :  "  Since  Miss  Fleming  broke  her  en- 
gagement— even  before — but  very  much  since  then,  I've  felt 
— we've  made — a  mistake." 

Jack  was  silent.  In  his  opinion  life  was  one  long  blunder, 
anyway,  damning  you  whatever  way  you  cast  your  will. 

"  Tell  me,  don't  you  think  he's  miserable  ? "  she  de- 
manded. 

"  He  doesn't  know  when  he  is  happy." 

"  He's  not  happy  with  me,"  she  said ;  and  her  voice  was 
like  a  cry. 

"  The  more  fool  he !  "  Jack  said  hastily. 

"Oh,  no,  he  can't  help  it!  There's  the  terrible  part — 
he  can't  help  it !  " 

"  Nobody  can  help  anything,"  Jack  muttered. 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Lord,  my  dear,  I  don't  know !  Marry  him !  You'll  make 
a  man  of  him  if  anyone  can." 

"  But  if  he's  not  happy?  " 

"  Ada  Fleming  couldn't  make  him  happy/'  Jack  ventured. 

"  She's  what  he  wants." 

Jack  looked  out  to  sea.  She  had  presented  the  only  logic 
that  is  everlastingly  irrefutable. 

"  I  am  afraid  she  is,"  he  admitted. 

Patricia  bowed  her  head.  Her  world  crumbling  about 
her  was  inducing  in  her  a  merciful  apathy. 

"  I  shall  break  the  engagement,"  she  whispered. 

"  Must  you  do  that  ? " 

"  You  know  I  must." 

"  I  hope — nothing  I've  said " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered  drearily.  "  You  only  made  what 
was  clear — clearer." 


i;6  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

She  rose,  but  put  out  a  detaining  hand.  "  If  you  please, 
Mr.  Carmichael,  I'd  rather  go  back  alone." 

Something  in  her  stricken  face  frightened  him.  Was  it 
well  to  let  her  go  alone  ? 

"  I'll  be  all  right,"  she  assured  him. 

"  Don't  take  it  too  hard,  Patricia,"  he  said  with  sincere 
kindness  and  pity. 

She  smiled  faintly,  and  left  him  without  a  word.  Jack 
watched  her  until  she  was  out  of  sight,  wondering  why  a 
good  woman  was  never  a  match  for  the  unscrupulous  of 
her  sex. 

About  the  second  week  in  October  Neal  received  a  note 
from  Patricia  asking  him  to  meet  her  that  afternoon  at 
St.  Anne's  Church.  She  had  something  of  importance  to 
say  to  him,  the  note  explained,  and  at  that  lonely  spot  they 
would  be  more  secure  from  interruption.  He  read  the 
message  with  apprehension.  Their  old  happy  comradeship 
had  vanished  the  day  Patricia  had  ended  her  urging  of  the 
church  matter  with  a  burst  of  tears.  Ever  since  that  day 
Patricia  had  shrunk  from  his  perfunctory  caresses  and 
compliments ;  and  Neal,  chilled,  puzzled  and  self-accusatory 
in  his  thoughts,  had  made  no  attempt  to  bring  matters  to 
a  crisis  by  asking  her  to  name  the  wedding-day.  That  date 
had  become  too  much  like  the  knell  of  all  his  aspirations. 
The  family,  too,  seemed  to  be  affected  by  the  news  that 
Ada's  engagement  was  broken.  With  the  exception  of 
Caecilia,  they  seldom  spoke  of  Patricia. 

Neal  went  at  the  appointed  hour  to  the  appointed  place. 
There  he  found  Patricia  pacing  restlessly  up  and  down  the 
walks,  a  slim,  dark  figure  around  which,  like  aerial  flecks 
of  gold,  the  autumn  leaves  were  swirling,  blown  by  a  gusty 
wind. 

She  had  reiterated  her  declaration  in  such  a  way  as  to 
leave  him  no  doubt  of  her  meaning.  Gazing  at  her,  Neal 
was  troubled,  wretchedly  exultant,  amazed  at  his  deliver- 
ance, yet  he  longed  to  effect  his  retreat  in  honorable  surety 
of  the  truth  of  her  word. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  177 

"  You — do — not — love  me,  Patricia,"  he  faltered.  "  You 
really  wish  to  break  our  engagement  ?  " 

She  looked  away  over  the  sea-marshes,  that  she  might  not 
meet  his  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  love  you,"  she  repeated ;  and  while  she  spoke 
the  words  she  would  have  gladly  died  to  feel  his  lips  upon 
her  mouth. 

"  You  really — wish — to  release  me  ?  "  He  could  not  keep 
the  relief  from  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  it  must  be !    This  isn't — true !    We  can't  go  on." 

She  meant  it  was  not  true  for  him,  that  every  day  was 
making  him  more  of  a  coward,  more  of  a  falsifier.  The 
truth  of  it  for  her  was  severing  her  very  soul  and  body. 
A  wild  cry  to  God  rose  voiceless  from  her  anguish,  a  prayer 
to  keep  her  hands  from  touching  him,  her  eyes  from  telling 
him  that  she  was  near  death  for  love  of  him. 

"  Go  now,"  she  cried.    "  I  want  to  be  alone." 

He  hesitated  a  moment;  then,  seeing  that  she  was  about 
to  turn  from  him,  he  took  both  her  hands  and  pressed  them, 
raised  them  to  his  lips  and  walked  rapidly  away  through 
the  churchyard. 

Suddenly  she  was  alone  with  the  huddled  graves,  the 
solemn  spire,  the  black  crows  beating  their  way  through 
the  still  air,  alone  with  the  wild  sunset  light  over  the 
sea-marshes. 


BOOK  III 
ADA 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

"  HAVE  you  seen  the  Giorgione  portrait  in  the  next 
room  ? "  Ada's  uncle  drawled  at  her  ear.  "  Don't  miss  it, 
but  remember  the  Leigh  ton- Parks  are  coming  for  tea." 

"  Don't  wait  for  me,  Whitney,"  she  said. 

When  he  was  gone  she  breathed  more  freely.  Between 
her  and  her  uncle  was  only  one  bond,  a  mutual  desire  to 
get  through  life  with  as  little  friction  and  fuss  as  possible. 
Both  hated  to  be  too  cold  or  too  warm,  or  forced  to  hurry, 
or  obliged  to  meet  enthusiastic  people. 

Her  second  winter  in  London  had  been  a  trying  one. 
Some  congestion  was  in  her  life  that  she  honestly  believed 
only  Neal's  return  to  her  could  abolish.  Through  Peter 
she  had  learned  of  the  breaking  of  the  engagement  with 
Patricia;  and  reading  his  letter  a  wave  of  exultation  had 
swept  over  her,  exultation  that  she  could  defeat  her  rival 
from  a  far  distance  and  by  negative  and  passive  meth- 
ods. She  did  not  expect  to  hear  from  Neal  before  the 
New  Year,  knowing  his  fastidiousness  in  matters  emo- 
tional. 

But  when  January  had  passed  and  she  had  no  word 
from  him,  she  had  begun  to  feel  alarm.  Was  he  suffering 
from  an  attack  of  conscience?  Ada  always  thought  of 
Neal's  conscience  as  of  a  weak  lung  or  a  disordered  liver, 
liable  at  any  time  to  make  trouble.  Was  he  drifting  back 
to  the  Celtic  beauty?  Was  he  going  through  a  year  of 
conventional  mourning  for  a  virgin  who  had  withdrawn 
from  him?  Peter  in  his  letter  had  carefully  explained  that 
Patricia  had  broken  the  engagement,  and  Ada  believed  it, 
for  she  understood  Patricia's  character  better  than  Neal. 
Here  was  a  woman  who  made  the  mistake  of  glorifying  the 
man  she  loved,  of  desiring  his  happiness  before  her  own. 
Neal  had  evidently  betrayed  himself  to  the  clear-eyed  Irish 

181 


1 82 

girl,  and  she  had  done — what  one  woman  in  a  thousand 

would  do. 

Remembering  her  uncle's  injunction  Ada  moved  slowly 
to  the  next  gallery.  The  Giorgione  was  all  she  expected 
and  much  more,  for  something  in  the  grave,  steady  gaze  of 
the  young  aristocrat  of  the  painting  reminded  her  of  Neal. 
Even  the  delicate  hand  laid  so  significantly  upon  the  parapet 
was  like  his  in  its  combination  of  sensitiveness  and  strength. 
The  workmanship  itself,  the  refinements  of  color,  brought 
to  Ada's  mind  not  the  imperial  city  of  Venice  and  Titian's 
adaptations  of  his  great  master,  but  a  chaotic  American 
island,  with  its  breweries,  its  rambling  trolley  lines,  the 
ineffable  beauty  of  its  hills,  the  ineffable  ugliness  of  its 
built-up  plains,  the  wide  sad  stretches  of  its  salt  sea- 
marshes  with  their  ever-changing  colors.  Oh,  she  was 
homesick  for  it!  She  wanted  Neal,  with  his  sweet,  be- 
fogged spirit,  his  impossible  ideals,  his  general  awkward- 
ness at  the  game  of  life,  his  proud  timeless  face  like  this 
youth  from  the  Renaissance. 

A  mist  of  tears  shut  out  the  painting,  scorching  her 
spirit,  for  they  symbolized  to  her  a  certain  weakness  and 
submission  alien  to  her  character.  She  had  wanted  to  rule, 
but  he  was  ruling — with  a  slow,  shadowy,  yet  strong  insist- 
ence like  a  command  out  of  a  dream.  Would  they  be 
happy  together  once  she  had  proved  her  point  to  him  that 
he  could  not  live  without  her  ? 

She  turned  at  last  from  the  Giorgione  and  her  musings, 
and  left  the  galleries.  At  the  first  street  corner  she  picked 
up  a  hansom,  an  equipage  she  preferred  in  London  be- 
cause it  furnished  vistas  of  a  city  which,  for  all  its  smoke 
and  cold,  she  very  dearly  loved.  Whitney  Birrell's  house 
in  Park  Lane,  despite  its  esthetic  self-consciousness,  de- 
lighted her  because  it  commanded  the  ever-changing  pano- 
rama of  Hyde  Park,  a  dissolving  perspective  of  opalescent 
lights. 

Telling  the  driver  to  go  home  by  a  circuitous  route  taking 
in  St.  James's  and  the  Green  Park,  she  leaned  back  in 
the  hansom  to  enjoy  the  jingling  jog-jog  of  that  vehicle 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  183 

and  the  view  over  the  broad  fat  back  of  the  sure  little 
horse,  nodding  his  head  in  perpetual  acquiescence  to  some 
equine  problem.  Life  could  never  be  dull  in  London  with 
its  sooty  universality,  its  perpetual  congress  of  all  nations, 
its  tawny  Thames,  its  chiaro-oscuro  of  the  present  and 
the  past.  But  Ada  wanted  more  than  the  simulacrum  of 
an  old  lover,  in  a  loan  exhibition.  She  wanted  Neal  to 
walk  these  streets  with  her,  to  inhale  London  with  her, 
to  make  love  to  her  again  in  his  divinely  awkward 
fashion,  amid  the  nascent  greeneries  of  these  far-stretching 
parks. 

The  door  of  her  uncle's  home  was  opened  to  her  by  a 
footman,  who  immediately  handed  her  a  little  blue  en- 
velope. 

"  Mr.  Birrell  wishes  you  to  have  this  at  once,  Miss ;  he 
'opes  it's  not  bad  news  from  your  'ome,  Miss." 

Ada,  her  heart  beating  fast,  opened  the  envelope.  It 
contained  but  a  line : 

"  Sailed,  Lurania — London — twenty-fifth.    Neal." 

All  Neal's  perplexities  seemed  forever  left  behind  when 
he  set  sail  for  England.  He  had  used  the  months  of  the 
winter  not  only  to  make  up  his  mind  but  to  reassure  him- 
self that  no  ghost  of  his  engagement  with  Patricia  would 
arise  to  haunt  him  after  he  had  set  his  face  again  in  Ada's 
direction.  He  had  written  to  ask  her  if  she  were  per- 
fectly sure  of  her  decision.  In  his  effort  at  self- justification 
he  had  almost  tempted  her  to  reconsider  her  fiat;  but  to 
his  letter  she  had  replied  with  calm  directness  that  matters 
could  not  be  changed.  Only  in  her  last  sentences  begging 
him  not  to  question  her  choice  had  she  betrayed  emotional 
insecurity. 

"  We  would  not  have  been  happy,"  she  had  said.  "  Is 
that  not  enough  ?  " 

He  had  written  again  asking  that  some  day  they  might 
renew  their  friendship.  To  this  she  had  replied  that  their 
friendship  was  taken  for  granted,  but  must  come  naturally 


184  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

again  out  of  what  events  the  future  might  bring.  She 
could  promise  nothing. 

With  this  rejoinder  he  had  had  to  be  satisfied,  and  the 
incident  had  seemed  closed  without  injury  to  his  pride 
or  self-appraisement.  He  had  dismissed  his  moments  of 
doubt  with  the  assurance  that  Patricia  had  taken  the  initia- 
tive in  the  matter.  Back  of  that  he  did  not  choose  to  go 
in  his  search  for  the  god  in  the  machine.  He  felt  like  a 
liberated  prisoner  whose  warrant  of  release  has  been  written 
in  a  foreign  tongue  and  signed  by  an  unknown  name. 

The  family,  with  the  exception  of  Caecilia,  seemed  frankly 
pleased  by  the  breaking  of  his  engagement,  but  Neal  had 
received  a  rebuff  from  Divine  which  cut  deep.  When  he 
announced  that  his  engagement  with  Patricia  was  broken, 
his  chief  had  said  merely,  "  It  is  best ;  you  couldn't  make 
her  happy !  "  And  then  turned  to  his  desk  without  further 
comment. 

When  he  had  asked  for  leave  of  absence  to  go  to  Ada, 
Divine  had  granted  it  immediately,  but  with  a  long,  search- 
ing look  at  him,  in  which  strangely  there  was  an  expression 
of  mingled  tenderness  and  pity.  Neal  resented  that  even 
more  than  Divine's  spoken  words  about  Patricia. 

Well !  Here  he  was  in  London  at  last,  with  the  delicious 
smell  of  soft  coal  again  in  his  nostrils,  the  very  essence 
and  reek  of  this  incomparable  city.  From  his  windows  he 
could  see  the  Nelson  lions,  great  cat-like  bulks,  looming 
through  the  saffron  mist,  while  an  apology  for  sunshine 
filtered  weakly  into  his  bedroom.  Almost  he  felt  as  if  it 
were  the  Easter  vacation,  and  he  would  soon  be  going  up  to 
Oxford,  to  his  rooms  at  Jesus.  He  and  Ada  and  her  inevi- 
table uncle  must  go  up  some  day  for  a  week-end. 

Taking  a  final  glance  at  his  tie,  he  hurried  out  and 
hailed  a  hansom,  feeling  gay  as  a  bird  as  he  flung  into  it 
and  tossed  Ada's  impressive  address  to  the  cabby,  who 
gave  his  hat  rim  a  deeper  dig  than  usual  at  the  mention 
of  Park  Lane.  Through  the  square  they  jingled,  into  Pall 
Mall,  up  the  Haymarket  to  the  Circus,  then  into  Piccadilly 
—glorious  route  of  entry  to  the  West  End  splendors. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  185 

Piccadilly  with  its  clubs  and  shops  evoked  many  memories. 
He  recollected  that  Ada  had  a  club  somewhere  in  its  pre- 
cincts. 

Apsley  House  at  last,  and  the  formalities  of  Hyde  Park, 
then  up  the  street  of  ambassadors,  English  titles  and  Amer- 
ican millionaires — that  street  of  varied  architecture.  Neal 
was  cold  with  excitement  now.  Little  tremors  ran  over 
him,  while  throughout  his  frame  he  had  a  sensation  of  the 
weakening  and  loosening  of  all  his  forces — that  queer  feel- 
ing of  empty,  fathomless  space  where  should  be  flesh  and 
muscles.  Suddenly,  with  the  unerring  accuracy  of  a 
London  cabman,  the  hansom  was  stopped  before  Ada's 
door. 

The  footman  ushered  Neal  upstairs  to  the  drawing-room 
whose  delectable  "  effects "  were  wasted  upon  the  eager 
lover.  He  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  the  burden  of 
longing  in  his  heart  forbidding  passivity.  At  last  a  slender 
white-clad  figure  entered,  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  door- 
way, then  came  towards  him,  both  hands  outstretched,  her 
eyes  luminous  and  gentle,  a  very  real  embarrassment  in 
her  manner — altogether  a  different  Ada  from  the  woman 
who  had  left  him  fifteen  months  before.  He  had  planned 
certain  introductory  formalities  with  her,  now  at  sight  of 
her  everything  was  swept  away  but  his  overmastering  desire 
of  her.  He  crossed  the  room  with  an  incoherent  cry  and 
clasped  her  in  his  arms.  She  made  no  resistance,  drooped 
towards  him  an  instant,  breathing  quickly,  her  face  empty 
of  color,  her  eyelids  quivering.  So  for  a  moment  they  clung 
together,  his  lips  finding  hers.  From  that  kiss  he  did  not 
release  her  until  with  a  little  cry,  her  face  aflame,  she 
drew  back. 

"  You  are  sure,  Neal — this  time  ?  " 

Memories  stabbed  him.  He  winced.  Then  as  his  answer 
he  put  his  arms  hungrily  again  about  her. 

"  My  darling,  I  was  always  sure." 

"  But — but  Patricia  ?  "  she  urged  gently. 

"  She's  a  noble  woman,"  he  faltered,  "  and  I  was  a " 

A  chill  shadow  fell  for  an  instant  across  their  happi- 


186  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

ness,  as  if  someone  had  invisibly  entered  the  room  and 
slipped  between  them. 

"  She  is  a  noble  woman — or  a  very  foolish  one,"  Ada 
said  carelessly,  a  little  metallic  ring  in  her  voice.  "  Who 
can  tell ! " 

Her  tone,  calm  and  level  now,  was  assigning  Neal's 
aberration  to  the  buried  past.  Her  attribution  of  a  choice 
of  qualities  to  Patricia  did,  by  a  fine  shade,  lay  the  stress 
on  the  second.  Ada  possessed  a  marvelous  gift  of  de- 
traction. Neal  was  almost  ready  to  believe  that  Patricia 
had  been  foolish  not  to  discern  that  he  wasn't  worthy  of 
her. 

Ada  said  no  more  of  Patricia,  and  as  the  best  method  of 
banishing  her,  now  that  she  knew  the  truth  at  last,  she  put 
her  cheek  up  to  Neal's  an  instant — her  way  of  telling  him 
that  she  could  compensate  him  infinitely  for  past  pain. 
She  was  really  desirous  of  his  devotion,  with  a  feverish, 
insistent  longing  to  know  that  her  power  over  him  was 
fully  established. 

"  It  has  been  so  long !  such  a  hard  way !  "  he  murmured. 

"  Over  now,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  We'll  keep  to- 
gether now." 

"  Let's  be  married  here  in  London,  at  once." 

She  smiled.    "  But  you  are  in  a  hurry !  " 

The  servants  bringing  in  lights  and  tea  put  an  end  to 
intimate  conversation.  Then  Whitney  Birrell  appeared,  and 
Neal,  stammering  a  little,  managed  to  convey  the  fact  that 
he  was  the  happiest  man  in  London. 

Birrell  took  the  news  of  his  niece's  engagement  with 
a  mild  show  of  interest  and  surprise,  which  hid1  a  very 
real  sense  of  satisfaction  that  the  long  London  visit  was 
to  come  to  an  end.  Though  he  was  proud  of  his  kins- 
woman's beauty,  and  glad  that  she  matched  his  fortune  with 
one  of  her  own,  Ada  had  a  way  of  obliterating  him  in  his 
own  drawing-room  which  was  decidedly  not  pleasant. 

Ada  herself  was  thinking  of  the  business  talk  she  must 
have  with  Neal  after  these  first  raptures  were  over.  She 
wanted  to  tell  him  that  she  would  raise  the  mortgage  on 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  187 

Carmichael  House,  but  she  was  by  no  means  willing  to 
live  in  it.  She  could  not  be  related  even  by  marriage 
to  anxious  people,  but  after  she  had  set  their  anxieties 
at  rest  Neal  must  not  ask  her  to  take  them  to  her  heart. 
The  oppportunity  for  this  conversation  came  some  days 
later. 

The  date  for  the  wedding — within  a  fortnight — had  been 
set,  and  plans  made  for  a  trip  to  Florence,  thence  to  Genoa, 
from  which  port  they  would  sail  for  the  United  States. 
Beyond  that  sailing  they  had  not  discussed  their,  future 
movements.  Even  in  the  midst  of  his  felicity  the  depress- 
ing thought  would  obtrude  itself  upon  Neal  that  he  could 
not  spontaneously  propose  plans  for  their  life  in  America 
since  Ada  possessed  the  money. 

He  was  speaking  of  his  prospects  on  The  Courier  to  her 
one  day,  when,  seeing  her  opening,  she  asked,  "  Where  are 
we  going  to  live  on  the  Island  when  we  return  ?  " 

Neal  looked  embarrassed  for  a  moment.  "  I  hope  you 
will  go  to  Carmichael  House." 

Ada  smiled.     "  Your  family  might  not  want  me. ' 

"  Grandfather  would  be  overjoyed." 

"  We  should  have  to  lodge  under  the  leads  ?  "  Ada  said 
with  a  mischievous  smile.  "  Forgive  me,  I  am  a  very 
exacting  person,  Neal.  I  love  comfort.  We'd  better  go  to 
a  hotel  while  our  house  is  building." 

"  But  Grandfather  would  be  grieved — hurt.  Couldn't 
you  come  to  us  just  for  a  few  months?  " 

Ada  considered  this  a  moment.  "  Mrs.  Guthrie,  of 
course,  directs  the  housekeeping?  " 

"  Yes ;  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  I  really  can't  be  at  her  mercy,  Neal.  I  like 
certain  food  prepared  in  a  certain  way.  I  like  certain  hours, 
and  serving-people  about  me  different  from  old  Graham 
and  Delia.  Oh,  I'm  afraid  it  wouldn't  work.  When  I  am 
not  comfortable  I  am  not  agreeable  to  live  with." 

Neal  raised  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  "  My  darling,  you'll 
be  as  good  for  us  as  young  wine ;  only  come.  It  will  work 
out  beautifully,  I  know." 


,88  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  wedding  present.  Now  don't 
look  startled  and  protesting.  This  isn't  a  scarfpin.  It's 
a  bulwark  for  my  own  peace  of  mind." 

Neal  waited  expectantly.  Living  these  days  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  miracles,  if  Ada's  lips,  like  those  of  the  prin- 
cess in  the  fairy  tale,  had  dropped  roses  he  would  not 
have  been  surprised.  He  could  scarcely  credit  the  fact  that 
they  were  to  be  married  within  two  weeks. 

"  You  see  it's  this  way,  Neal.  I  have  a  horror  of  pov- 
erty; it  seems  to  me  as  ugly  as  sin  and  almost  more 
damning.  I  have  never  been  related  to  poor  people  or  to 
people  with  worries — 

She  paused,  but  he  had  already  caught  the  drift  of  her 
discourse,  and  she  perceived  a  stiffening  of  his  frame  as 
if  he  were  preparing  himself  to  receive  a  blow. 

"  Don't  look  hurt,"  she  went  on,  "  but  I  am  going  to  lift 
the  mortgage  on  Carmichael  House  as  my  wedding-gift  to 
you." 

Neal  rose  abruptly  and  went  to  a  nearby  window,  smitten 
through  with  some  agitation  which  he  did  not  care  to  have 
Ada  witness.  This  was  glorious  of  her,  but  how  accept 
such  a  gift ! 

"  Don't  be  tragic  over  it,  Neal ! "  Ada  said,  a  touch  of 
frost  in  her  voice. 

"  Tragic !  Why,  you're  wonderful !  It's  a  big  sum ;  per- 
haps you  don't  know " 

"  I  know  to  a  penny  how  much  it  is.  I  have  spared  you 
the  necessity  of  a  decision  by  writing  yesterday  to  your 
grandfather — and  Jack.  Only  the  whole  thing  is  to  be  put 
in  Peter's  hands  and  under  the  charge  of  Peter's  lawyer. 
Between  you  and  me  I  wouldn't  trust  Jack  with  a  sixpence. 
He  has  too  much  imagination  to  be  a  good  business 
man." 

Neal  listened  in  silence,  emotions  like  conflicting  cur- 
rents surging  through  him.  He  had  so  longed  to  meet 
her  on  equal  ground,  with  his  difficulties  put  under  his 
feet,  his  family  steadily  on  theirs.  Why  should  she  do  this 
strange,  great  thing?  Was  her  pride  so  intrenched  that  all 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  189 

those  who  came  in  contact  with  her  must  share  her  well- 
being  of  body  and  of  mind?  Was  this  the  generosity  of 
overflowing  love? 

But  a  throb  of  exultation  carried  him  beyond  these 
thoughts  into  exquisite  relief.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been 
walking  for  months  through  a  light-excluding  tunnel  with 
its  smooth  monotony  of  imprisonment  all  about  him,  its 
eternal  circle  of  black  always  ahead  of  him ;  and  now  he 
was  again  in  the  air,  the  other  prisoners  with  him.  He 
would  have  ease  of  mind  to  be  gracious  again,  to  look  about 
him  and  be  sorry  for  people,  to  enjoy  the  sunshine  and 
his  friends,  to  speak  of  Carmichael  House  without  that 
pulling  at  his  heartstrings  which  was  like  physical  pain. 

"  Neal,  do  you  like  your  wedding  present  ?  " 

He  wheeled  about.  "  And  what  do  I  give  you  in  re- 
turn?" 

"  Your  devotion,"  she  murmured. 

He  went  back  to  her  then,  drew  her  into  his  arms,  held 
her  to  him,  charged  with  emotion,  she  melting  to  tender- 
ness again  by  one  of  her  quick  transitions — a  languorous, 
golden  Ada,  into  whose  fair  hair  he  breathed  his  vows  with 
all  the  ardor  of  a  knight  or  a  novice. 

"  I  must  work  to  repay  you,"  he  said  softly. 

She  drew  away.  "  Don't  think  of  money.  You  can  get 
yourself  heard  in  many  ways.  Write  your  book  on  'Phases 
of  Patriotism/  the  one  you  told  me  of;  make  yourself  a 
name !  " 

He  thrilled  to  her  imperatives.  It  would  be  glorious  to 
work,  with  the  paralyzing  money  specter  forever  laid.  He 
had  hated  to  be  poor,  but  he  hated  even  more  the  intense 
egoism  and  self-absorption  induced  by  poverty.  To  make 
a  move  without  counting  the  cost,  to  be  able  to  dine  a 
friend  in  the  city  without  wondering  if  the  detestable  ten 
dollars  would  be  needed  in  other  ways!  Oh,  this  would 
be  release  indeed !  He  had  always  wondered  why  the  saints 
had  extolled  poverty.  In  his  opinion  it  was  the  most  anti- 
social, ugly,  narrowing  and  freezing  experience  that  one 
could  undergo — particularly  the  poverty  of  the  well-born. 


i9o  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"Ada,  if  I'm  not  famous,  it  will  be  but  a  poor  return 
for  your  generosity." 

"  I  am  not  generous.  You  don't  know  perhaps  what 
a  very  wealthy  woman  I  am.  I  did  not  have  to  touch  my 
capital  to  fix  matters  up  for  you." 

"  You  will  live  with  the  family  a  little  while,  dear,  won't 
you?" 

"  If  I  may  take  over  the  housekeeping." 

"  I  am  sure  Maria  would  be  glad  to  be  relieved  of  it. 
Ada,  you've  saved  them!  They'll  be  eternally  grateful  to 
you." 

Ada's  smile  told  nothing.  Neal  left  her  with  the  sensa- 
tion of  a  man  who  is  suddenly  introduced  into  too  much 
light.  He  had  exchanged  one  kind  of  blindness  for  an- 
other. 

But  softer,  nearer  experiences  were  to  screen  the  future, 
and  after  his  first  consternation  over  his  munificent  gift 
from  Ada,  Neal,  who  hated  the  question  of  money  at  all 
times,  slipped  easily  back  to  his  romance.  London  to  his 
eyes  lost  its  inky  coat  and  glowed,  like  a  bridegroom's  tunic 
of  Shakespeare's  day,  with  white  and  gold.  He  scarcely 
slept  or  ate,  glorying  in  those  midnights  when  his  vague 
promenades  sometimes  landed  'him  on  London  Bridge, 
sometimes  on  Hampstead  Heath. 

Characteristic  letters  were  received  from  the  family.  His 
grandfather  was  overwhelmed  by  the  dual  tidings  of  Neal's 
engagement  and  the  family's  emancipation.  Jack  wrote, 
"  You  are  very  clever,  dear  nephew,  and  I  promise  to  be 
good  when  Ada  comes."  Philip  said  it  was  well  somebody 
was  marrying,  and  he  hinted  that  Ada's  presence  in  the 
house  might  result  in  keeping  the  library  warmer. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ADA  had  been  offered  by  one  of  her  friends  the  loan  of 
a  villa  near  Fiesole  for  the  fortnight  she  and  Neal  were 
to  be  in  Italy ;  and  there  on  an  April  evening  towards  sunset 
they  arrived,  being  met  at  the  gate  by  a  voluble  major- 
domo,  who  gave  them  a  typically  Latin  welcome. 

The  villa  itself  was  a  block-like  structure,  with  heavily 
shuttered  windows  and  an  extensive  English  garden  just 
now  a  foam  of  flowers.  On  the  terrace  before  its  entrance 
door  was  a  row  of  black,  motionless  cypresses  in  strong 
silhouette  against  the  molten  sunset  gold.  The  vast  rooms 
through  which  they  were  conducted  had  more  mythology 
fading  on  the  ceilings  than  Neal  had  ever  mastered  at 
school,  and  more  pendent  crucifixes  on  the  bare  walls  than 
he  had  ever  seen  collected  in  a  church. 

They  went  into  the  gardens  to  see  the  last  light  over 
the  domes  and  towers  of  Florence.  Neal's  waking  dream 
was  almost  too  beautiful  to  credit — to  be  alone  with  her 
in  the  loveliest  city  in  the  world,  to  look  forward  to  a 
lifetime  with  her!  Since  their  marriage  he  had  found 
within  his  arms  a  new  Ada,  a  woman  who  tremblingly 
responded  to  his  passion,  who  seemed  a  slight,  frail 
feminine  being,  his  to  guard  and  protect  all  their  days. 
He  wondered  in  the  first  exultation  of  his  possession  of 
her  what  had  become  of  the  Ada  whom  he  had  feared  al- 
most as  much  as  he  had  worshiped.  Did  all  women  need 
the  physical  mastery  to  bring  their  spirits  unto  the  zone 
of  tenderness?  Why  had  he  ever  imagined  that  anyone 
but  she  could  satisfy  him? 

He  poured  his  troubled  rapture  into  her  ears,  as  they 
stood  between  the  sentinel  cypresses  and  saw  Florence  pass 
from  gold  to  nocturnal  blue.  Ada  at  last  made  comment, 
"  I  wonder  if  you  really  love  me !  I  wonder  what  you 
would  give  up  for  me." 

191 


i92  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  Everything ! " 

She  smiled.  "  I  doubt  it,  but  I  am  not  going  to  put  you 
to  the  test.  Dear,  don't  kiss  me  here  !  I  am  sure  the  major- 
domo  and  all  his  regiment  are  watching  us." 

"  What  do  we  care !  " 

She  leaned  her  head  back  for  an  instant  so  that  her 
cheek  touched  his,  glad  to  feel  him  tremble,  to  see  the 
sudden  whiteness  of  his  face.  This  idealist,  with  his 
stubborn  reticences  and  uneasy  romanticism,  was  hers  at 
last — to  fit  into  her  ambitions  if  she  could ;  for  Ada  always 
felt  a  latent  power  of  resistance  in  Neal,  which  was  one 
of  his  chief  attractions. 

At  dinner  he  faced,  between  the  high-branched  candelabra, 
still  another  Ada — a  grande  dame  now,  impressing  to  any 
degree  the  warm-hearted  Italian  servants.  Neal,  with  a 
thrill  of  pride,  saw  how  they  watched  her,  how  they  at- 
tended her  lightest  word,  anticipated  her  faintest  wish.  Ada 
accepted  it  all  with  her  usual  insouciance.  Neal  had  often 
speculated  over  this  quality  of  hers,  which  drew  to  her 
without  effort  what  most  people  obtain  only  with  much 
expenditure  of  force.  Mrs.  Fleming's  attitude  towards  her 
niece  had  always  been  inexplicable  to  him;  and  Whitney 
Birrell,  to  his  surprise,  had  made  no  lamentation  over 
losing  Ada,  had  seemed,  indeed,  most  cheerful  at  the  wed- 
ding breakfast. 

In  the  days  that  followed  Neal  had  the  sensation  that 
his  own  happiness  had  flowered  into  the  frescoed  walls  and 
airy  towers  of  Florence,  a  city  which  seemed  closely  related 
to  Ada's  beauty,  of  which  he  sometimes  caught  glimpses 
in  a  haunting  portrait  of  the  early  Renaissance.  The  hours 
were  full  of  satisfactions,  so  blended  that  he  did  not  know 
where  the  material  charms  became  the  spiritual  privilege. 
He  was  having  his  first  introduction  to  Ada's  exquisite 
control  of  the  outer  courts  of  the  senses — her  power  to 
draw  to  her  harmonious  environments,  to  exclude  what 
was  jarring  or  inappropriate.  In  her  bedroom  or  in  the 
streets  of  Florence,  it  was  all  the  same — she  led  a  selected 
existence,  wonderfully  free  of  hazard.  Her  genius  for  ar- 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  193 

ranging  material  luxury  and  beauty  amounted  to  an  intro- 
duction to  a  spiritual  life  equally  free  from  the  shocks  of 
accident.  She  seemed  to  avoid  everything  that  was  dis- 
tressing or  discordant  in  her  topics  of  conversation,  and  to 
regard  life  with  a  musing  good-humor.  The  effect  upon 
him  was  to  make  much  of  his  own  past  existence  appear 
fantastic  in  its  Gothic  struggles  to  understand  human  prob- 
lems, and  in  its  voluntary  jolting  over  a  rough  road  with 
resultant  fatigue  and  disillusion. 

They  went  one  day  to  the  Certosa,  where  they  were  re- 
ceived by  a  monk  like  a  phantom  of  forgotten  days,  who 
conducted  them  along  endless  corridors  of  echoing  stone, 
past  cells  empty  forever  of  their  occupants,  and  dark 
chapels  where  no  masses  would  ever  again  be  said. 

"  The  government  is  only  waiting  until  the  last  of  us 
is  coffined,"  he  said  mournfully. 

"  You  are  happy  here  ?  "  Neal  inquired. 

"  Most  happy !  I  have  a  garden  to  tend.  I  have  my 
prayers  at  the  altar ;  I  have  no  changes  to  dread,  no  losses, 
for  I  have  nothing  to  lose.  Out  in  the  world  you  are 
always  at  the  mercy  of  the  things  you  desire.  It  is  inde- 
scribable, Signer — the  release  into  a  world  beyond  owner- 
ship. All  things  are  yours !  Nothing  is  yours !  " 

Neal  listened  as  if  to  a  voice  from  some  forgotten  aspira- 
tion of  his  own.  How  far  he  was  from  this  now,  he 
swamped  with  felicity,  almost  quarreling  with  his  excess 
of  happiness.  He  had  Ada,  and  a  future  full  to  the  brim 
of  sweet  earthly  adventures.  This  man  had  a  sunny  garden 
of  herbs  and  a  shadowy  heaven — and  believed  himself 
blest.  Was  he  blest,  or  was  it  only  the  poor  boast  of 
negation,  that  its  paralyzed  limbs  need  no  longer  know 
the  exertion  of  travel  ? 

He  read  the  answer  in  Ada's  face — in  her  amused,  in- 
credulous look,  changing  to  one  of  animation  as  her  gaze 
was  directed  towards  another  party  of  sightseers.  Neal, 
to  his  discomfiture,  recognized  Wentworth,  who  was  accom- 
panied by  two  ladies.  Beholding  Ada,  Wentworth  colored 


194  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

violently;  then  with  some  words  of  explanation  to  his 
companions,  brought  them  to  where  she  stood. 

"  My  friend,  Miss  Fleming,"  he  began. 

"  No,  Mrs.  Carmichael,"  Ada  corrected  gently. 

Wentworth  directed  a  lightning  glance  at  Neal,  as  if  to 
assure  himself  that  his  former  rival  was  indeed  there  in 
the  flesh  and  in  the  character  designated.  Then  rather 
pompously,  he  elucidated  his  own  circumstances. 

"  Permit  me  to  present  you  to  Lady  Clyde,  and  to  Miss 
Violet  Clyde,  my  fiancee,"  he  added  with  evident  nervous- 
ness. 

Ada  regarded  with  calm  interest  the  tall  young  English 
girl  with  her  sweet,  narrow  face,  abundant  fair  hair  and 
blue,  child-like  eyes.  Violet  Clyde  bowed  and  looked  rather 
anxiously  at  her  mother,  a  faded,  angular  woman,  heavily 
hung  with  trinkets  and  scarfs. 

"  Miss  Fleming !  "  murmured  Lady  Clyde.  "  Ah,  yes ! 
I  remember  Miss  Fleming." 

The  situation  threatened  to  be  extremely  awkward,  but  to 
Neal's  infinite  relief  Ada  came  to  the  rescue  with  a  strange 
tale — it  sounded  to  her  anxious  husband  extremely  like  an 
improvisation — of  having  met  Lady  Clyde's  nephew,  the 
Honorable  Dale  Winton,  at  a  county  ball  in  Surrey.  She 
went  on  to  remark  his  resemblance  to  his  noted  ancestor 
painted  by  Vandyke.  Lady  Clyde's  smile  was  slow  in 
coming,  but  at  last  her  long  teeth  were  in  full  view,  when 
she  commented  with  nervous  graciousness  on  Ada's  per- 
spicacity. 

Wentworth  proposing  that  they  should  finish  the  Certosa 
together,  they  all  strolled  on,  and  Neal  found  himself  with 
the  English  girl  and  her  mother,  while  his  former  rival 
walked  ahead  with  Ada.  They  were  talking  intimately, 
so  absorbed  in  each  other  that  they  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten entirely  the  group  behind  them.  Neal,  glancing  at 
Miss  Clyde,  saw  that  her  child-like  blue  eyes  were  fixed 
anxiously  upon  her  lover,  as  if  she  knew  something  of 
Wentworth's  American  romance  and  resented  it.  With 
jealousy  stirring  in  his  own  breast,  Neal  wondered  what 
devil  of  ill  luck  had  brought  Wentworth  to  Florence ! 


CHAPTER  XXV 

ON  the  day  that  she  had  sent  Neal  from  her,  Patricia 
had  wandered  for  hours  through  the  byways  of  the  Island, 
seeing  nothing,  scarcely  knowing  at  any  time  her  direction, 
conscious  only  of  the  inner  torment  that  lashed  her  on. 
What  she  had  intended  had  come  to  pass.  He  had  believed 
her — believed  that  she  had  ceased  to  love  him,  accepted  the 
falsehood !  How  easily  he  had  taken  her  word,  as  if  her 
change  of  heart  were  half-expected! 

She  called  him  cruel,  she  reproached  him,  as,  long  ago 
in  her  childhood,  she  had  named  him  a  false  friend  but  had 
wounded  herself,  not  him,  by  the  description.  Even  now 
she  had  to  cease  from  her  accusations  of  him,  because  she 
could  not  bear  the  pain  which  racked  her  at  the  thought 
that  he  was  false.  She  might  come  to  hate  him ;  and  hate, 
even  more  than  love,  would  sap  the  strength  of  her  spirit, 
render  her  a  castaway. 

Night  and  its  stars  overtook  her.  The  evening  wind 
was  bringing  the  cold  sharp  odor  of  Autumn  to  her  senses. 
The  withered  leaves  rustled  as  she  walked.  From  time 
to  time  there  were  sounds  from  the  sea,  ghostly  whistles 
of  vessels  sweeping  out  to  unknown  ports.  What  could  she 
do?  Where  could  she  go? 

On  this  lonely  road  few  passed  her,  but  whenever  a 
figure  emerged  from  the  gloom  her  heart  leaped  in  expecta- 
tion, as  she  strained  her  eyes  for  the  miracle  of  his  return- 
ing form.  Only  shadows  went  by  her. 

She  remembered  dully  that  it  was  Uncle  Shamus's  birth- 
day, that  at  home  they  would  be  having  the  annual  party 
in  his  honor.  She  knew  that  he  would  never  allow  them 
to  light  his  birthday  candles  until  she  came.  These  thoughts 
went  through  her  mind,  as  if  walking  on  some  desolate 
coast  she  had  beheld  driftwood  from  a  long-forgotten  land. 

195 


i96  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

She  must  return,  go  back  to  the  old  round,  take  up  her  life 
again  with  her  family,  tell  them  that  she  was  not  to  be  Neal 
Carmichael's  wife. 

She  found  her  uncle  by  the  sitting-room  fire  in  the  heavy, 
mournful  black  suit  of  clothes  sacred  to  this  annual  occa- 
sion. A  purgatorial  collar  lifted  his  chin  slightly,  giving 
him  a  supercilious  appearance.  A  new  pipe  he  was  trying, 
for  love's  sake,  was  firmly  wedged  in  his  mouth.  Oppo- 
site him  sat  Father  Carew,  his  hands  stretched  to  the 
blazing  logs.  Dr.  Murphy  and  his  son  were  coming 
later. 

At  sight  of  Patricia,  Uncle  Shamus  gave  a  little  chirpy 
wheeze  and  wagged  a  thin,  welcoming  hand. 

"  I've  been  wearyin'  for  ye !  The  childer  wanted  to  light 
the  candles  on  me  cake,  but  divil  a  one,  says  I,  shall  be 
lit  until  me  grandniece  comes,  and  here  you  are !  " 

"  You  are  lookin'  peeked,  Patricia,"  Father  Carew  com- 
mented. "  Is  anything  ailin'  you,  girl  ?  " 

"  Oh,  her  cheeks  will  bloom  once  she  is  married,"  Uncle 
Shamus  said  jovially. 

"  And  you've  not  told  me  the  day,"  said  Father  Carew. 

"  No  day  set  yet,  Father." 

"  What's  this — weddings  ?  "  a  hearty  voice  asked.  James 
McCoy  had  entered  and  laid  a  fatherly  hand  on  Patricia's 
shoulder.  Close  behind  him  were  Dr.  Murphy  and 
Thomas. 

She  looked  around  upon  them,  knowing  what  satisfac- 
tion her  news  would  bring  to  three  of  them  at  least. 
Thomas  seemed  even  now  waiting  for  it;  with  a  lover's 
keenness  he  was  reading  something  in  her  face  that  the 
others  did  not  see.  Why  let  them  proceed  with  their  jests 
through  a  long  evening?  She  was  past  feeling  or  caring. 
They  might  as  well  know. 

That  she  had  told  them,  though  in  what  words  she  was 
never  able  afterwards  to  recall,  she  was  made  aware  first 
by  the  crashing  of  a  dish  on  the  hearth — fallen  from  her 
mother's  hands.  What  they  said  was  as  dim  to  her  as  her 
own  declarations,  but  she  was  aware  of  her  father's  morti- 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  197 

fied  look,  as  if  she  had  signed  away  a  kingdom,  of  her 
mother's  attempts  at  tender,  soothing  speech,  of  Father 
Carew's  silence,  and  of  Thomas's  pale  face  and  keen  eyes, 
in  whose  depths  lurked  triumph,  prophecy  and  ill-concealed 
joy.  He  could,  indeed,  scarcely  believe  that  Patricia 
the  long-desired,  the  Patricia  thought  lost  and  snatched 
away  to  mysterious  elevations,  was  among  them,  theirs 
to  hold  and  cherish.  Of  course  she  had  tired  of  Neal  Car- 
michael,  who  never  seemed  alive  unless  he  was  wrestling. 
Of  course  she  could  never  marry  a  stubborn  Protestant — 
and  she  had  had  the  sense  to  know  it.  She  was  now  a 
woman  to  be  wooed  again !  How  pale  and  beautiful  she 
had  looked,  standing  there  to  tell  the  good  news ! 

He  watched  her  as  she  filled  the  vases  on  the  table  with 
red  carnations,  and  thought  that  he  would  not  begrudge 
her  the  largest  diamond  he  could  buy. 

Uncle  Shamus  went  home  in  a  coach  about  nine,  Patricia 
with  him  to  see  that  he  kept  the  lap  robe  over  his  thin 
knees.  When  they  were  fairly  off  he  turned  his  good  eye 
to  her. 

"  Do  you  want  him,  me  own  ?  "  he  said.  "  There's  a 
charm  I  know  to  bring  back  love.  I'll  kill  him  if  he's 
wounded  ye.  Lave  the  others  to  believe  the  nonsense  you 
told  'em.  I  knew  the  truth;  I  read  it  in  your  dear  eyes. 
There's  a  charm  I  know — rosemary  dipped  in  Holy  Water 
and  laid  in  the  moonlight " 

"  Oh,  Uncle,  stop !  stop !  God  Himself  can't  bring  love 
back." 

James  McCoy  felt  that  Patricia  should  give  some  account 
of  herself,  but  he  deputed  the  task  of  questioning  her  to 
her  mother.  When  Mrs.  McCoy  reported  failure,  her  hus- 
band had  his  first  stirring  of  doubt  regarding  the  veracity 
of  his  daughter's  statement.  Had  the  break  resulted  from 
some  change  in  young  Carmichael's  feelings?  What  was 
wrong  in  her,  that  she  couldn't  keep  her  man?  Women 
who  didn't  marry,  or  who  failed  to  hold  their  husbands, 


i98  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

always  seemed  to  McCoy  eccentric,  a  departure  from  the 
normal,  nature's  "  seconds  "  or  botches. 

Instead  of  being  sorry  for  her,  a  vague  irritation  was 
aroused  in  him  by  her  ill  looks  and  silent  manner.  "  If 
you  don't  intend  to  take  Carmichael,"  he  asked  her  one 
day,  "  who  do  you  intend  to  take  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  marry  anyone,  Father." 

"  What  good  are  old  maids ! "  he  said  scornfully. 

She  thought  of  his  words  later  and  with  a  clearer  appre- 
hension of  their  meaning.  Of  course  it  would  hurt  his 
pride  if  she  did  not  marry  someone,  besides  running  counter 
to  his  beliefs  as  a  good  Catholic.  Women  should  be  either 
the  brides  of  Christ  or  of  earthly  husbands.  No  other 
position  was  for  them  either  dignified  or  tenable. 

Even  Patricia  herself  had  always  regarded  spinsters  as 
women  but  waiting  to  live,  growing  older  and  more  slug- 
gish as  that  postponed  vitality  receded  every  year  further 
and  further,  and  occupying  themselves  with  petty  substitutes 
for  the  supreme  experience.  Now  she  herself  was  to  enter 
that  gray  sisterhood  of  the  ineffectual,  for  never  could 
she  marry.  Neal  Carmichael  was  her  mate — no  other.  If 
he  hadn't  known  it,  that  was  fate.  She  could  scarcely 
realize  that,  of  her  own  free  will,  she  had  delivered  him 
over  to  another  woman,  the  woman  he  wanted. 

Ah,  there  was  the  mysterious  way  Fate  worked.  If 
you  didn't  push  a  man  towards  what  he  wanted,  but  held 
him  to  his  bargain,  he  would  hate  you  after  a  time.  She 
had  at  least  escaped  that  hell.  Neal  could  never  hate  her 
now.  Perhaps  some  day  he  might  love  her  with  that  de- 
layed autumnal  love  some  men  have  for  a  woman  who  has 
disappeared  from  their  lives  and  can  therefore  never 
trouble  them.  The  romances  of  sentimentality  and  nega- 
tion are  to  some  natures  the  most  pleasing  of  all,  but  they 
must  be  paid  for  bitterly  by  either  the  man  or  the  woman. 
Patricia  could  pay.  The  rest  of  her  life  would  be  payment. 

Divine  met  her  in  the  street  one  day,  the  day  on  which 
she  had  answered  Neal's  conscience  letter,  that  letter  of 
platitudinous  nobility,  to  which  she  had  been  obliged  to 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  199 

school  herself  not  to  send  an  edged  reply.  To  meet  Divine 
was  almost  like  encountering  Neal.  She  would  have  passed 
him  by  with  only  a  greeting,  but  he  detained  her  with  some 
question  about  her  work.  In  an  unofficial  way  he  had 
had  dealings  with  sick  souls.  A  malady  of  no  minor  order 
looked  from  the  girl's  eyes.  Her  church  had  refuges  for 
the  heart-wounded,  but  he  did  not  believe  her  enough  of 
a  mystic  to  accept  them.  This  woman  belonged  to  the 
warm  earth,  not  to  the  cloister. 

He  thought  it  best  to  speak  plainly,  for  he  saw  that  grief 
had  taken  her  far  beyond  the  need  of  conventions. 

"  It  was  a  big  thing  you  did,  Patricia,"  he  said  gently. 
"  Few  women  could  have  done  it." 

"  God  made  me  in  anger,"  she  said  bitterly.  "  I  have  to 
go  on  as  I  began." 

When  he  had  parted  from  her  she  went  to  the  Mariner's 
Rest,  a  place  she  now  frequented  to  comfort  herself  a  little, 
since  aside  from  Divine  Uncle  Shamus  alone  knew  who 
had  broken  the  engagement. 

He  welcomed  her  with  his  usual  chirp  of  happy  expecta- 
tion. Someone  had  sent  him  a  pound  of  tobacco,  but  he 
had  postponed  the  joy  of  its  first  trial  until  she  could  be 
by  his  side  to  whiff  the  aroma.  She  put  on  the  kettle  to 
make  tea  for  them  both,  then  came  and  seated  herself  near 
the  ancient  armchair  of  Shamus's  daily  use,  taking  his  hand 
in  hers  and  patting  it  softly. 

"  I  see  a  wish  in  your  eyes,  colleen.    What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  wish  you  and  I  were  going  on  a  ship  together,"  she 
answered,  "  a  very  strange  little  ship— you  captain,  I  the 
crew — all  canvas  crowded  on  and  an  off-shore  breeze  to 
sail  us  straight  down  to  the  sea,  away,  away  from  the 
Island,  on,  on  to  some  sunny  land;  and  we'd  rest  there, 
you  and  I ;  no  trouble  any  more,  or  struggle." 

Shamus  took  a  long  pull  at  his  pipe.  "  It  sounds  like 
Oireland  to  me." 

"  But  the  sun,  dear  ?    A  sunny  island,  I  said." 

"  I've  seen  the  sun  in  Oireland,"  Shamus  proclaimed. 
"  Softer  and  goldener  and  coaxin'er  than  here !  " 


200  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  My  island  isn't  on  the  map,"  she  said.  "  It's  the  one 
called  '  blessed/  and  no  chart  exists,  Uncle  Shamus— all 
lost  long  ago.  So  you  and  I  can't  get  back." 

It  was  not  like  her  to  talk  this  way,  so  he  set  about  to 
make  her  laugh,  and  she,  divining  his  purpose  and  wishing 
to  please  him,  shook  off  her  melancholy. 

It  was  the  wish  to  please  him  that  drew  her  somehow 
through  the  long  days  of  the  winter,  each  so  uniformly 
dark  and  uneventful  that  she  felt  at  times  like  a  person 
walking  in  an  endless  dream.  Each  day  brought  its  round 
of  district  visiting ;  each  night  its  nursing  or  its  hours  with 
the  family,  with  whom  she  had  never  regained  quite  the 
position  she  had  held  before  her  engagement  with  Neal. 

Of  Thomas  Murphy  she  saw  much,  because  he  would 
not  let  her  alone.  He  belonged  to  the  class  of  men  who  can- 
not credit  defeat  in  romance,  and  he  waited  for  Patricia's 
"  yes "  as  a  physician  for  signs  of  sanity  in  his  patient. 
Patricia's  delay  was  but  falsifying  her  version  of  the  story. 

But  she  evaded  both  him  and  Father  Carew,  who  more 
than  once  in  the  confessional  rebuked  her  sternly  for  her 
stubborn  sadness  and  melancholy  drifting,  and  placed  before 
her  the  advantages  of  marriage  with  a  man  of  her  own 
faith,  one  well  fitted  to  care  for  her  and  to  rear  a  family. 
Patricia  had  shivered  at  this,  and  had  left  the  church 
feeling  she  belonged  to  those  hapless  ones  who  are  neither 
for  God  nor  for  his  enemies. 

She  heard  in  March  that  Neal  Carmichael  had  sailed  for 
England,  and  she  knew  at  once  what  mission  took  him 
there.  He  had  delayed  a  decent  six  months  before  depart- 
ing, that  no  shadowy  arms  might  be  about  him,  no  ghost 
walk  the  decks  of  the  ship  with  him.  Patricia  awaited  the 
news  of  the  marriage,  as  in  some  infinitely  prolonged  mo- 
ment of  the  victim  bending  beneath  the  raised  axe.  It  came 
in  the  form  of  a  cable  dispatch  seen  casually  in  a  morning 
paper.  Patricia  read  it  without  emotion,  but  the  thought 
crossed  her  mind,  "  I  must  never  see  him  again.  I  shall 
live  all  my  life  within  a  mile  of  him,  but  I  must  never  see 
him  again." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

MR.  CARMICHAEL  had  been  in  and  out  of  the  dining- 
room  more  than  once  to  see  that  the  decorations  of  the 
table  were  in  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  festive  expectation 
pervading  the  house  like  visible  sunshine.  Maria  felt  half- 
relieved,  half-resentful  that  the  reins  were  to  be  hence- 
forth in  Ada's  hands.  Yet,  of  course,  on  the  whole  it  was 
best,  for  with  Ada  in  command  the  keynote  of  luxury 
would  inevitably  be  sounded.  Hadn't  she  sounded  it  already 
by  dispersing  from  over  the  heads  of  all  of  them  that 
fuliginous  cloud  of  debt,  for  the  curious  reason,  the  rather 
humiliating  reason,  that  she  wanted  around  her  people  with 
easy  minds. 

"  Aren't  you  putting  off  that  black  gown  for  this  one 
night  ?  "  Mr.  Carmichael  said  with  a  touch  of  impatience 
to  his  daughter  Maria. 

"  I  can't !    You  know  how  hard  it  is " 

She  broke  off  and  turned  away  a  moment.  Like  most 
persons  of  feeble  vitality,  she  lived  more  in  the  past  than 
in  the  present. 

"  Well,  don't  depress  Ada,  my  dear.  She's  young,  you 
know,  and  fond  of  bright  colors." 

"  I  ?  I  couldn't  depress  Ada,  could  I,  Jack  ?  "  she  added, 
addressing  her  brother,  who  at  that  moment  had  entered 
the  room. 

Jack  said  the  usual  peace-restoring  word,  though  his 
skeptical  mind  did  not  regard  the  new  arrangements  which 
would  follow  Ada's  arrival  as  a  cote  for  the  dove  of  peace. 
They  should  probably  all  live  handsomely  and  pay  the 
piper  what  was  demanded.  He  was  apprehensive  that  his 
own  toll  might  be  a  reformed  life — a  blameless,  shelved 
existence.  Already  much  of  the  direction  of  the  family 
finances  was  in  Peter's  hands,  and  Jack  had  the  sensation 

201 


202  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

of  the  door  of  his  conjurer's  cave  being  slammed  in  his 
face.  Maria's  tribute  would  probably  be  total  extinction. 
As  for  Philip,  if  Ada  could  trace  him  through  the  mists 
of  the  past  she  was  more  clear-sighted  than  her  contem- 
poraries. 

Where  was  Philip,  anyway?  Somebody  ought  to  see 
that  he  had  his  dinner  coat  on. 

Jack  sought  the  library.  In  its  furthest  recesses,  by  the 
light  of  a  squat  student  lamp,  Philip  was  bending  over 
his  books,  his  shoulders  rounded,  his  face,  in  juxtaposition 
to  the  green  glass  globe,  yellowed  to  pallor.  Could  nothing 
ever  arouse  this  brother  from  his  eternal  preoccupation  with 
the  dead?  Jack's  Lesbias  had  always  been  alive;  but  as 
he  stood  looking  at  his  brother  he  had  the  ghostly  feeling 
that  his  own  romances  would  never  get  into  print  (lucky 
they  couldn't!) — and  ladies  as  bright-eyed  as  Lesbia  would 
soon  be  dead  and  forgotten.  Jack  was  not  often  intro- 
spective ;  but  he  had  a  moment  of  seeing  the  pageant  of 
the  non-existent,  and  a  simultaneous  conviction  that  he  must 
join  them  one  day  in  the  stiff  motley  of  mortality. 

"  Hello,  Phil !  "  he  called  ou-t  of  his  depression. 

Philip  looked  up,  startled,  for  Jack  did  not  often  track 
him  to  his  lair.  Between  the  two  brothers  existed  that 
perfect  misunderstanding  which  almost  approaches  geniality. 

"  Time  to  dress  !  "  said  Jack.  "  Our  newly-weds  must 
be  out  of  the  Customs  by  this  time.  Poor  Neal!  he  must 
have  had  a  bad  half-hour." 

"  Would  Ada  throw  down  the  glove  to  the  Government  ?  " 

"  Glove  ?  No !  nor  gloves  either,  nor  laces,  nor  gawds. 
I  am  sorry  to  tear  you  from  your — what  ?  " 

"  Merely  a  neo-platonist ! — the  Latin  of  the  decadence." 

He  rose  stiffly  and  began  to  screw  down  the  light,  for 
Philip  was  always  rigidly  economical. 

"  Oh,  leave  it,"  Jack  said.  "  Ada's  here  now ;  we  mustn't 
be  too  stuffy." 

Philip  turned  up  the  light  again. 

"  Jack,"  he  asked  drearily,  "  did  you  ever  think  of  getting 
married  ?  " 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  203 

Really  Homeric  laughter  greeted  this  question.  "  Why  ?  " 
Jack  was  able  at  last  to  ask. 

"  It  strikes  me,"  Philip  said  solemnly,  "  that  there  are 
going  to  be  too  many  people  in  this  house." 

"  Shall  you  and  I  draw  lots  ?  " 

"  I  can't  leave — unless  I  marry.  I'd  be  too  lonely," 
Philip  said  confidingly. 

"  You  lonely  ?  and  in  Greece !  " 

"  I  am  sometimes  very  lonely,"  Philip  affirmed  simply. 
"  Divine  Is  my  only  friend.  I  have  tried  to  push  into  real 
life,  but  people  frighten  me.  They  seem  so  unreal  and 
insincere,  when  gathered  together  for  social  purposes.  In 
my  books  even  their  weaknesses  are  comforting,  for  they 
are  veiled  by  many  centuries.  Is  dinner  later?  I  hope 
Ada  isn't  going  to  make  too  many  shifts,  or  change  the 
menu  much.  I  should  have  to  marry  in  that  case." 

Jack  laughed  again,  but  he  linked  an  arm  affectionately 
in  his  brother's  and  drew  him  towards  the  doorway  in  which 
that  instant  Csecilia  appeared.  She  looked  astonished  at 
the  sight  of  Jack  and  Philip  together." 

"  I  have  been  hunting  you  boys  everywhere,"  she  said. 
"  Ada  and  Neal  are  here.  They're  dressing  now.  You've 
just  time,  Phil,  to  change." 

When  Philip  had  disappeared  Jack  drew  mysteriously 
close  to  Caecilia's  ear. 

"  He  confesses  he's  lonely,  Ceil.  How  do  you  think  Ada 
and  he  will  hit  it  off?" 

Caecilia  was  always  optimistic.  "  Oh,  well,  she'll  only 
be  here  a  short  time ;  they're  going  to  build,  you  know." 

"  M — m — m,"  Jack  murmured.  "  I  bet  you  a  box  of 
gloves  to  a  cigar,  Ceil,  that  Ada  will  stay.  She  likes  to 
boss,  and  there  are  four  of  us,  five  counting  Neal,  to  say 
'  forward  march  '  to.  Besides  there  isn't  an  architect  living 
who  could  get  her  up  a  house  like  this." 

Caecilia's  cheeks  grew  pink.  "  I  hope  she  won't  touch 
Carmichael  House,"  she  said.  "  It  was  bad  enough  to  have 
an  outsider  rescue  us.  To  me  the  mortgage  is  still  ex- 
istent." 


204  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  Of  course,  only  Ada  holds  it !     Is  David  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we're  all  here !    Now,  Jack  dear,  don't " 

He  patted  her  cheek. 

"  I  know,  Ceil.  You  want  me  to  be  good.  I  suppose 
Neal's  radiant  ?  " 

Jack's  unspoken  verdict  was  that  his  nephew  was  radiant, 
for  Neal  never  looked  better.  Pride  in  Ada  was  written 
for  everyone  to  read  in  his  glances,  his  gestures,  his 
proclamation  of  the  treasure  he  had  brought  from  Europe. 
For  a  person  never  constitutionally  in  high  spirits,  he  was 
in  a  most  happy  mood,  rallying  his  uncle,  complimenting 
his  aunts,  even  addressing  some  jocular  remarks  to  Graham. 
Ada  said  little,  but  she  looked  lovely,  and  her  reception 
had  been  effusive  and  flattering  enough  to  put  her  in  a 
very  good  humor.  Of  course  the  rooms  assigned  to  her 
and  Neal  were  hopelessly  mid- Victorian,  but  they  could  be 
torn  out  immediately  and  filled  with  furniture  of  her  own 
choosing.  As  she  mechanically  asked  questions  and  an- 
swered them,  she  was  redecorating  the  dining-room. 
Grandfather  Carmichael  looked  enough  like  a  French  mar- 
quis to  be  set  off  by  a  background  in  cool  grays  and  rose. 
She  wondered  if  the  family  would  stand  for  it. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Carmichael,  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  " 

The  head  of  the  house  was  addressing  her.  "  You  are 
glad  to  be  back  to  your  own  country,  Ada  ?  "  he  repeated. 
"  Aside  from  the  pleasure  of  being  with  you  all,  I  am 
afraid  I  am  not  glad.  I  do  not  like  the  United  States. 
Why  should  one  like  a  crucible?  You  feel  bruised  from 
head  to  foot  by  the  life  here.  We're  young  yet,  neverthe- 
less we  are  doddering  with  all  the  vices  of  decadent  nations. 
Neal,  if  you  don't  make  yourself  famous  trying  to  establish 
a  real  democracy,  I'll  not  forgive  you." 

She  threw  him  a  glance  to  which  he  responded  with  an 
eager  upleaping  of  all  his  old  ambitions.  It  was  so  de- 
lightful, so  singular  in  Ada,  to  want  to  push  him  the  very 
way  he  wanted  to  go.  Decidedly  it  was  piquant  in  her, 
sitting  there  clothed  like  the  sun  and  preaching  simplicity; 
the  very  picture  of  an  aristocrat,  and  advancing  democracy ! 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  205 

Mr.  Carmichael  looked  puzzled;  he  had  fought  in  the  Civil 
War;  he  had  been  a  member  of  the  Judiciary.  Of  course 
the  United  States  wasn't  perfect,  but  in  his  opinion  human 
nature  was  pretty  much  the  same  everywhere.  People 
gambled,  lusted,  tricked  each  other,  broke  each  other's  heads 
and  reenacted  in  general  the  comedies  and  tragedies  of  the 
Old  Testament.  Israel  had  been  young  when  it  did  all 
these  things. 

"  Ada,"  Jack  ventured,  "  I  could  have  been  a  wonderful 
reformer  if  I  had  had  your  fortune.  Money  is  the  root  of 
all  virtue,  good  humor,  charitable  feelings.  Why  are  you 
so  charming?  Because  you've  lain  in  the  lap  of  luxury  all 
your  days." 

Everyone  laughed,  Ada's  luxury  becoming  in  that  moment 
a  kind  of  general  possession.  Only  Jack  would  have  dared 
to  mention  it  under  the  circumstances.  Maria  sighed,  think- 
ing that  if  she  only  had  Polly  back  she  would  be  content 
with  a  crust  and  the  tent  of  heaven  for  a  roof.  It  was  well 
she  did  not  utter  this  sentiment,  for  while  it  was  in  her 
mind  she  was  helping  herself  liberally  to  the  alligator  pear 
salad. 

Ada  showed  her  practical  nature  by  her  easy  mastery 
of  the  routine  of  Carmichael  House,  and  by  her  recon- 
structive energy,  devoted  chiefly  to  epicurean  innovations. 
She  loved  luxury  and  would  not  be  without  it.  If  other 
people's  incomes  weren't  equal  to  such  a  table  as  she  desired 
to  have,  well,  she  would  make  up  the  deficiency.  Jack,  who 
during  the  past  lean  years  had  counterbalanced  the  frugal 
domesticity  of  his  father's  house  by  occasional  excursions 
to  Reynolds',  now  basked  in  a  perpetual  summer  of  gas- 
tronomical  joys;  but  his  meat  was  Philip's  poison.  He  who 
had  shared  many  banquets  of  the  Romans  now  looked 
askance  at  Ada's  entrees. 

She  provided,  however,  spiritual  as  well  as  material  de- 
lights. She  played  the  piano  with  the  skill  of  a  profes- 
sional, if  not  a  virtuoso,  and  seemed  glad  to  display  her 
talent  to  this  family  who  floated  off  upon  her  nocturnes  and 
her  preludes — Alec  into  the  past,  Neal  into  the  future,  Jack 


206  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

into  dreamy  sentimentalism,  while  Philip  was  generally 
landed  in  Sicily  where  Theocritus  whispered  classic  secrets 
to  him.  Divine  sometimes  dropped  in,  and  occasionally 
Peter,  who  would  regard  the  scene  with  a  shade  of  amuse- 
ment in  his  skeptical  countenance. 

If  questioned  upon  the  subject,  Neal  would  have  asserted 
his  belief  that  he  was  the  most  fortunate  man  in  the  uni- 
verse. With  Wentworth  left  behind  in  Europe  and  Ada  in 
Carmichael  House,  where  he  had  so  often  pictured  her,  life 
resembled  a  madrigal. 

He  had  taken  up  his  work  with  fresh  enthusiasm,  with 
an  immense  longing  to  "  make  good  "  for  Ada's  sake,  to 
get  into  politics,  to  labor  for  the  coming  religion  which 
he  firmly  believed  was  to  be  established  upon  the  equities 
of  industrialism.  The  Church  had  failed  to  live  up  to  the 
socialism  of  Jesus,  but  men's  hearts,  still  strong  and  hope- 
ful, could  be  used  as  corner-stones  for  the  modern  temple 
of  adjusted  relations  between  all  classes. 

But  even  the  religion  of  industrialism  paled  these  days 
before  the  pleasure  of  going  home,  of  finding  Ada  in  some 
new  and  bewildering  costume  put  on  for  his  benefit.  Then, 
when  they  were  alone  together,  came  the  close  intimacies 
of  which  he  had  so  often  dreamed.  They  seemed  the  fruit 
of  stolen  rapture,  these  kisses  given  and  received  in  a  room 
so  silent  and  so  fragrant. 

They  had  come  up  early  one  evening  because  Neal  had 
wanted  her  to  himself.  She  had  put  on  a  shimmering  honey- 
moon robe  and  boudoir  cap,  and  stretched  herself  on  the 
day-bed  with  little  yawns  and  soft,  sleepy  invitations  to 
Neal  to  make  himself  as  comfortable  as  she  was. 

"  Where  do  you  think  I  penetrated  to-day  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  How  should  I  know,  Ada  dear !  " 

"  I  bribed  one  of  the  maids  to  let  me  see  Polly's  room 
that  Maria  guards  so  jealously.  My  dear,  I  want  it !  " 

Neal  looked  bewildered.  "  You  want  it,"  he  repeated. 
Her  word  "  bribe  "  had  grated  upon  him  as  if  it  had  been 
slang  from  the  lips  of  the  Madonna,  while  he  fervently 
hoped  that  Mrs.  Guthrie  would  not  be  told  of  the  invasion. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  207 

"  I  can't  understand  why  a  large,  beautiful  room,  paneled 
to  the  ceiling  and  overlooking  the  sea,  should  go  to  waste. 
There's  a  bath  opening  out  of  it,  which  connects  with  two 
unused  rooms  on  the  other  side,  looking  south." 

She  was  stroking  his  hair  as  she  spoke,  with  fingers 
delicately  electric,  and  watched  him  with  an  air  of  faint 
amusement. 

"  Really,  you  know,"  she  continued,  "  it  would  be  better 
for  Maria's  health  and  spirits  to  have  that  room  torn 
apart." 

*'  But  I  couldn't  possibly  suggest  it,"  Neal  said  in  an 
anxious  voice,  and  wishing  with  all  his  heart  that  Ada 
had  not  fixed  her  fancy  upon  the  room  sacred  to  his  dead 
cousin. 

"Why  not?" 

Her  voice  had  hardened  a  little.  She  leaned  back  and 
scrutinized  him,  while  he  pondered  upon  his  reply.  The 
whole  family  was  reaping  golden  benefits  from  her,  yet  her 
first  request  must  be  refused.  He  longed  to  give  her  every- 
thing she  wanted,  but  he  was  keenly  aware  of  the  tempest 
which  such  a  proposition  would  bring  forth.  Polly's  room 
was  Maria's  shrine,  the  locality  of  her  vain  unending  pen- 
ance. 

"  Ada,  darling,  it's  impossible.  Every,  or  any  room,  in 
the  house  but  that." 

Two  dark,  little  vertical  lines  appeared  between  Ada's 
brows,  lines  that  came  there  when  she  was  angry  or 
thwarted  of  some  desire. 

"  After  all,"  Neal  said,  "  we're  only  here  for  a  little 
while." 

She  remained  silent.  Lifting  her  hand,  he  put  it  to  his 
lips.  "  Sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  these  rooms  are  sacred  now 
to  me." 

She  drew  her  hand  away.  "  You  are  such  a  sentimental- 
ist! If  I  had  those  rooms  I  might  not  care  to  build — for 
a  while  yet." 

A  thrill  of  satisfaction  went  through  him  at  this  hint 
of  postponement.  He  had  not  realized  how  passionately 


208  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

he  had  desired  to  bring  Ada  into  the  very  heart  of  his  old 
existence  in  Carmichael  House,  and  keep  her  there.  He 
wanted  her  to  feel  the  caress  of  its  memories,  to  come 
under  the  spell  of  its  autumnal  fascinations,  to  love  his 
family,  faulty  and  ineffectual  as  they  were,  an  assemblage 
of  dreamers,  indeed,  but  lovable  through  their  very  help- 
lessness. 

"  Ada,  darling,"  he  whispered.  "  Let  us  stay  on  here 
awhile.  I — I  want — my  son  born  here,"  he  faltered,  and 
again  took  her  hand. 

She  looked  at  him  in  genuine  astonishment.  "  What  did 
you  say  ?  " 

He  repeated  his  words,  drawing  her  to  him,  his  eyes 
upon  her  with  intent,  wistful  inquiry.  She  returned  a  gaze 
that  was  less  a  light  breaking  from  under  half-closed  lids 
than  a  hard,  sealed,  unspoken  negative.  Leaning  back  she 
raised  her  arms  above  her  head,  and  the  chiffons  of  the 
loose  sleeves  falling  away  revealed  the  firm,  white,  rounded 
flesh.  Her  lips  were  pouted  a  little,  and  their  deep,  nat- 
ural red  increased  their  likeness  to  a  rose.  Her  eyes,  under 
the  drooping  lids,  yielded  nothing  to  his  asking  spirit.  As 
she  waited  for  him  to  speak  again,  her  physical  presence 
arousing  his  pulses  to  the  quick  tempo  of  passion,  her  spirit 
detached  and  wary,  there  flashed  across  his  mind  a  vision, 
hateful  and  unendurable,  of  the  eternally  sterile  woman, 
luring  always,  caring  only  for  the  kiss,  the  caress,  detached 
blossoms  of  the  spring,  never  to  round  to  fruit. 

"  Ada,  some  day  you  and  I — oh,  darling,  don't !  " 

For  she  had  laughed  with  drowsy  satire  and  indulgent 
mockery.  Reaching  for  her  little  cigarette  case,  she  drew 
one  out,  lighted  it,  and  blew  ghostly  rings  of  smoke  towards 
the  ceiling. 

"  Neal,  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  I  could  never  endure  pain 
or  ugliness;  I  am  not — heroic." 

Her  tone  implied  that  she  did  not  intend  to  endure  it, 
illiberal  and  ungenerous  as  this  might  seem.  Neal  scarcely 
credited  her  words.  For  a  moment  doubt  lay  leaden  on  his 
heart,  then  he  struggled  to  displace  it.  Of  course  Ada  was 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  209 

not  speaking  seriously.  In  any  case,  nature  might  trick 
her  into  motherhood,  and,  once  secured  and  blest  within 
that  glorious  economy,  she  would  yield  to  its  master-magics. 
So  he  laughed  too  and  drew  her  closer,  but  she  pushed 
him  away  with  a  soft,  petulant  gesture. 

"  Oh,  I  mean  what  I  say.  I  am  modern,  dear,  and  can't 
see  the  virtue  in  physical  fertility.  I'd  rather  bring  forth 
ideas ;  rather  lead,  draw,  inspire.  I  want  you  to  be  famous. 
I  want  that  more  than  anything  else  in  all  the  world.  I 
know  you  are  seething  with  all  kinds  of  plans  for  reorgan- 
izing the  universe.  Go  ahead!  Let  your  genius  burn. 
You're  free  now."  She  drew  his  head  down  until  his 
cheek  rested  against  the  lace  and  silk  of  her  robe.  "You 
dear,  silly  boy,  you  wanted  to  do  it  all  yourself  before  you 
married  me.  You  wanted  to  be  rich,  as  if  anybody  could 
earn  money  while  pursuing  altruism  or  socialism,  or  the 
vision  of  a  perfect  world !  But  you  don't  have  to  think  of 
that  now." 

Something  stirred  rebelliously  within  him  at  her  state- 
ment of  his  case,  yet  it  was  all  true,  trenchantly  true.  His 
perpetual  thought  of  money  matters  had  blurred  his  vision 
of  his  brother's  need.  Now  he  could  live  all  day  in  the 
cosmos  of  the  under-man  if  he  wished,  and  return  at  night 
to  such  silken  havens  as  this,  where  she  waited  to  per- 
suade him  through  her  perfect  presentation  of  existence 
that  the  poor  and  the  suffering  were  but  the  fantastic 
shadows  of  a  grim  mythology.  Could  he  keep  the  balance 
true  between  his  days  and  his  nights? 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IN  the  old  house  near  the  wharves  the  McCoy  family 
were  waiting  with  more  or  less  impatience  for  Patricia  to 
realize  that  on  the  threshold  a  man  stood  ready  to  lead 
her  into  the  major  mysteries  of  married  life — more  impor- 
tant to  their  way  of  thinking,  and  to  Father  Carew's,  than 
all  the  problems  of  poverty  and  illness.  A  woman  so  splen- 
didly alive  as  Patricia  owed  both  the  church  and  the  world 
the  tribute  of  her  wifehood. 

But  Patricia  held  back,  shielding  herself  in  a  reserve 
which  even  Father  Carew  could  not  penetrate  either  by  his 
Irish  wit  or  his  ghostly  admonitions.  How  could  they 
realize — this  family  and  the  larger  family  of  St.  Margaret's 
— that  her  love  for  Neal  Carmichael  was  the  star  of  her 
existence,  a  luminary  which,  whether  in  a  placid  sky  or  be- 
hind storm  clouds,  controlled  her  will.  It  was  not  a  matter 
of  choice.  It  could  not  be  confessed  away,  vowed  away. 
They  might  as  well  ask  her  to  vow  away  the  coming  of  the 
tide.  The  tide  had  its  ebb,  as  Patricia  had  her  days  of 
sheer  forgetfulness  of  everything  but  her  work.  Yet  back 
would  come  the  dark,  mysterious  force,  to  which  she  would 
yield,  or  which  she  would  fight,  according  to  her  convic- 
tion of  the  moment.  When  she  yielded  she  was  less  bitter ; 
but  then  she  would  stay  away  from  confession,  not  daring 
to  unbare  her  thoughts. 

Bulletins  concerning  the  newly  married  pair  in  Carmichael 
House  were  often  transmitted  to  her  by  Delia,  though 
Patricia  never  opened  the  subject  and  closed  it  at  the  first 
opportunity.  It  hurt  her  pride  that  she  should  hear  of 
Neal  through  back-stairs  gossip,  yet  she  could  not  always 
stop  the  tongue  of  the  warm-hearted,  voluble  Irishwoman, 
who  had  only  half-forgiven  Patricia  for  relinquishing  the 
honors  awaiting  her  at  Carmichael  House. 

210 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  211 

Delia  was  coming  to  supper  one  summer  evening  after 
Benediction,  Sunday  having  been  chosen  that  Patricia  might 
be  at  home.  With  the  youngest  of  her  sisters  in  her  lap,  she 
sat  on  the  porch  awaiting  the  return  of  the  family,  and 
watching  the  sailboats  as  they  showed  between  the  trees 
down  there  beyond  the  edge  of  the  shore  where  the  masts 
of  idle  schooners  rose  stiffly.  How  often  she  longed  to 
take  herself  away  to  foreign  scenes,  seeking  in  a  new  land 
release  from  memories  too  identified  with  this  Island  to 
insure  escape  from  them  while  she  was  still  upon  it. 

Her  sister,  sliding  from  her  lap  to  run  down  to  the  gate, 
drew  her  eyes  to  the  church  party  now  approaching  in  a 
sociable  yet  straggling  procession  headed  by  Father  Carew 
and  Delia,  and  rounded  off  by  James  McCoy  and  his  wife, 
their  strong,  handsome  figures  slightly  stiffened  by  Sunday 
habiliments.  Patricia,  remembering  then  that  she  had  not 
yet  made  the  potato  salad,  hurried  indoors,  thankful  that 
Thomas  had  not  accompanied  the  family  home. 

Delia  had  news  to  tell !  Patricia  gathered  this  as  they 
were  all  seated  about  the  supper-table,  for  the  sharp  yet 
kindly  gray  eyes  sought  he.rs  continually.  Father  Carew  was 
the  first  to  convey  it,  though  not  with  intention.  He  had 
had  hard  work,  he  said,  to  get  a  man  to  do  a  bit  of  painting 
at  the  priest-house.  All  the  laborers  on  the  Island  seemed 
to  be  working  at  the  Carmichaels'. 

Patricia  looked  down  at  her  cup,  hoping  the  remark 
would  pass  without  comment,  but  McCoy,  always  interested 
in  the  Carmichaels  because  of  his  daughter's  transitory 
connection  with  them,  said  with  a  protesting  flourish  of  his 
fork: 

"  Don't  tell  me  the  new  Missus  is  tearin'  up  that  beautiful 
old  house.  How  about  it,  Delia  ?  " 

Delia  bristled.  "  Tearin'  up  the  foundations  of  every- 
thing," she  muttered,  "  bad  luck  to  her — and  beggin'  your 
pardon,  Father." 

"  Well,  if  you  feel  that  hard,  Delia,  you'd  better  clear 
yourself  by  tellin'  us  what  she's. done,"  Father  Carew  an- 
swered placidly. 


212  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Patricia  was  quite  white,  but  no  one  was  noticing  her, 
all  eyes  being  fixed  upon  Delia,  whose  own  eyes  were  snap- 
ping with  anticipatory  judgments. 

"  Mr.  Neal's  in  a  fool's  paradise,  as  they  all  are  up  there, 
except  Mrs.  Guthrie.  If  you  could  have  seen  her  cryin'  as 
I  did,  in  Miss  Polly's  poor,  stripped  room." 

"  She  took  Polly's  room,"  Mrs.  McCoy  said  indignantly. 

"  She's  taken  the  whole  house,  drat  her !  Up  to  the 
garret  has  gone  the  old  mahogany,  an'  she's  puttin'  in 
wicked  French  furniture  an'  pictures,"  Delia  explained  with 
righteous  misunderstanding.  "  I  don't  fancy  them  bow- 
knots,  an'  the  gray-haired,  red-cheeked  women  she  calls 
Nattways.  She  an'  Mrs.  Guthrie  had  a  set-to  about  Polly's 
room,  an'  Mrs.  Guthrie  wouldn't  give  it  up,  until  Miss 
Ada  said  somethin'  about  mothers  that  killed  their  children 
an'  then  worshiped  them.  Mrs.  Guthrie  came  to  me  all 
white  and  tremblin'.  'Delia/  she  says,  'did  I  kill  Polly? 
If  I  did  God's  judgin'  me — but  say  I  didn't,  or  I'll  go  mad.' 
I  put  her  to  bed  an'  held  her  like  a  two-year-old." 

"  Mr.  Alexander  himself  came  in  to  see  what  was  wrong, 
an'  I  told  him  straight.  '  Mr.  Carmichael,'  says  I,  '  you've 
been  my  master  nigh  thirty  years.  If  you  allow  your  grand- 
daughter-in-law  to  take  Miss  Polly's  room,  you'll  live  to  rue 
it.'  With  that  he  began  to  shake,  an'  says  he,  '  We're  under 
terrible  obligations  to  Mrs.  Carmichael,  an'  we're  glad  to 
keep  her  here  among  us.'  After  a  bit  Mr.  Neal  comes  in, 
lookin'  distressed  and  unhappy.  He  sits  down  by  his  Aunt 
Maria  an'  takes  her  poor  tremblin'  hand  an'  strokes  it,  an' 
looks  as  if  his  heart  was  breakin'  with  pity  for  her,  but 
he  can't  do  nothin'  either.  An'  sure  was  I,  that  his  wife 
had  it  all  fixed  up  without  his  say-so — it's  the  way  of  her 
— an'  him  adorin'  her  makes  it  worse." 

Delia  paused  for  breath.  Patricia  was  listening  with  a 
sense  of  suffocation,  ashamed  of  the  blind,  instinctive, 
unholy  joy  in  her  heart  which  would  surge  up  and  drown 
the  nobler  pity.  Neal  had  what  he  wanted — and  he  was 
paying  the  price ! 

"Tain't  the  way  to  win  the  hearts  of  Neal's  people," 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  213 

Father  Carew  commented  thoughtfully.  A  shadow  was  on 
his  face,  for  he  did  not  like  this  news,  nor  the  expression 
in  Patricia's  eyes;  nor  her  silence,  nor  her  pallor — beau- 
tiful, baffling  colleen  that  she  was. 

James  McCoy  looked  at  his  daughter.  "  You'd  have  done 
better  than  that — wouldn't  you,  Patricia?" 

Taken  by  surprise,  Patricia  flushed  deeply.  "  Mrs.  Car- 
michael  has  at  least  kept  the  house  from  the  market.  You 
should  do  her  that  justice,  Delia." 

"  And  turned  it  into  a  jail !  "  Delia  returned  hotly.  "  She's 
got  an  iron  will — but  very  smooth  so  long  as  she  isn't 
crossed.  Mr.  Neal  will  be  the  most  wretched  man  on 
earth  when  he  knows  the  truth." 

Father  Carew  felt  he  must  stop  this  outpouring.  Gossip 
was  all  very  well,  but  even  innocent  gossip  had  a  malign 
way  of  sowing  seed  in  people's  hearts  which  later  brought 
forth  ugly,  unrecognizable  blooms. 

"  Do  you  remember  little  sandy-headed  Michael  Kelley 
that  used  always  to  have  a  cold  in  his  head  and  snuffle 
over  his  Latin,  till  you  had  to  bless  yourself  to  keep  from 
hard  thoughts  of  him  ?  Do  you  remember  him,  Delia  ?  " 

"  Sure,  Father." 

"  Well,  he's  no  hand  to  forget  old  friends  and  old  bene- 
fits. He  never  forgot  the  day  you  ran  into  the  priest's 
house  with  somethin'  for  his  headache  between  Masses — he 
bein'  just  out  of  seminary  and  not  used  to  fastin'  until 
midday.  Well,  he's  sent  you  a  medal  from  Rome,  a  beau- 
tiful object  of  art  in  a  velvet  case — and  blessed  by  His 
Holiness.  Now,  what  do  you  think  of  little  Kelley ! " 

"  Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  Delia  said,  smiling 
about  the  table.  "  Have  you  the  medal  with  you,  Father  ? 
Sure,  I  need  it  against  me  temper  in  Carmichael  House,  for 
I  was  never  one  to  like  deceit  an'  smoothness  and " 

Father  Carew  sighed.  Women  were  beyond  even  his 
diplomacy!  It  took  the  Lord  Almighty,  and  not  a  poor 
priest,  to  stop  their  tongues. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  changes  at  Carmichael  House  once  accomplished, 
even  Mrs.  Guthrie  had  to  acknowledge  that  its  inhabitants 
were,  from  every  material  standpoint,  the  gainers.  Ada 
said  nothing  more  to  Neal  about  building,  since  she  was 
herself  realizing  that  Carmichael  House  was  in  its  way 
quite  beyond  duplication.  No  builder  could  replace  its 
paneling,  provide  a  main  staircase  of  such  graceful  spiral, 
match  its  painted  ceilings ;  no  landscape  gardener  could  as- 
semble such  immemorial  box-bushes,  such  hedgerows  of 
white  and  purple  lilacs. 

Another  feature  of  the  case  influenced  Ada  in  remaining. 
She  enjoyed  her  rule  as  the  guiding  genius  of  this  outworn 
family;  was  pleased  both  to  dazzle  them  and  to  keep  them 
in  order.  After  all,  they  were  a  presentable  assemblage  of 
dependents,  their  marks  of  aristocracy  shown  in  their  odd, 
handsome  features,  their  erect  bearing — even  Maria's  shoul- 
ders never  drooped — their  deep-set  eyes  with  some  inde- 
finable beauty  of  expression  in  them,  their  inability  to  do 
what  was  crude  or  ungraceful.  To  her  friends,  Ada  called 
them  "her  collection,"  and  only  Mrs.  Fleming  did  not 
smile,  perhaps  because  she  had  been  herself  on  a  shelf  in 
Ada's  cabinet  for  so  many  years. 

Mrs.  Fleming  went  one  day  about  a  year  after  Ada's 
marriage  to  see  her  niece  on  a  matter  of  business — she 
avoided  social  contacts  with  Ada — and,  not  finding  her  in, 
inquired  for  Mrs.  Guthrie,  between  whom  and  herself,  since 
Polly's  death,  a  certain  bond  had  been  established,  strength- 
ened later  on  by  their  mutual,  if  unspoken,  consciousness 
that  they  both  felt  alike  on  the  subject  of  Neal's  wife. 
Delia  came  down  to  ask  Mrs.  Fleming  if  she  would  go 
directly  to  Mrs.  Guthrie's  bedroom. 

On  the  way  she  encountered  Mr.  Carmichael  and  stopped 

214 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  215 

to  chat  with  her  old  neighbor,  who  looked  costly  and  well 
set-up,  though  his  mouth  was  fixed,  she  thought,  in  grim 
lines. 

"  You  are  growing  younger,  Alexander,"  she  said. 

"  Your  niece  has  put  me  in  a  conservatory,  Madam.  I  am 
obliged  to  flourish.  How  is  Peter's  mother  ?  " 

"  Peter's  mother  is  well,  and  dreading  her  son's  marriage 
— to  the  loveliest  girl  in  the  world,  of  course !  " 

"  They  are  all  that  before  marriage,"  Mr.  Carmichael  said 
sagely.  "  This  sex  riddle,  Madam,  is  the  one  which,  if  I 
am  permitted  to  survive  death,  I  shall  propound  to  Pluto 
and  Proserpine.  I  am  beginning  to  believe  it's  all  an  illusion 
— these  two  unreconciled  divisions  called  female  and  male. 
Somewhere  the  two  must  be  one,  but  not  in  this  world," 
he  added  with  a  mournful  accent  and  a  wag  of  his  white 
head.  "  There  are  changes  here."  He  indicated  the  vista 
of  drawing-rooms,  a  perspective  of  light,  graceful  and  im- 
personal decoration. 

"  I  preferred  old  Carmichael  House,"  Mrs.  Fleming  said 
with  a  touch  of  sharpness. 

A  mist  clouded  the  patriarch's  eyes.  "  No  resurrection 
for  that,  Alberta  Fleming — but  then  we're  mighty  com- 
fortable !  Ada's  a  smart  woman,  as  we  used  to  say  years 
ago,  before  everybody  was  so  clever." 

"  Yes,  Ada  is — intelligent,"  Mrs.  Fleming  remarked 
dryly,  "  but  if  she  had  been  a  little  more  so  she  wouldn't 
have  scoured  the  bloom  of  time  off  these  walls." 

"  Well,  the  young  like  change."  He  shuffled  off  to  the 
library — a  strange  library,  with  Ada's  modern  spirit  re- 
corded in  violet  decorations  that  offended  Philip.  He  and 
Ada  had  had  a  scrimmage  over  the  green  glass  globe  of 
his  student-lamp,  in  which,  to  the  astonishment  and  secret 
satisfaction  of  the  family,  Philip  had  won;  it  having  been 
generally  believed  that  too  much  intimacy  with  dead  poets 
had  sapped  his  spirit.  Jack  had  ventured  the  explanation 
that  there  must  be  some  authority  for  green  glass  lamp 
shades  in  the  Greek  Anthology,  else  Philip  would  never 
have  stiffened  his  backbone  against  Ada's  encroachments. 


216  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Mrs.  Fleming  laughed  and  passed  on.  She  found  Mrs. 
Guthrie  in  her  room,  now,  it  would  seem,  Polly's  room  also, 
for  the  dead  child's  possessions  had  been  transferred  to 
this  sanctuary.  It  was  one  of  the  weapons  of  Ada's  power 
that  her  decisions  had  common  sense  behind  them,  and  the 
results  of  her  arbitrations  generally  proved  advantageous  to 
resisters  of  her  authority. 

Mrs.  Guthrie,  deprived  of  Polly's  room,  was  cut  off,  per- 
force, from  a  setting  which,  in  its  changeless  rigidity,  resem- 
bled a  marmorean  record  of  death.  Polly's  little  trinkets, 
her  pictures  and  books  arranged  in  her  mother's  room,  had 
been  rendered  sweet  and  companionable  by  the  change. 

"  I  am  marooned  here,"  Maria  announced  to  Mrs. 
Fleming.  "  That's  the  reason  I  asked  you  to  come  up.  I 
don't  feel  at  home  in  the  rest  of  the  house;  I  am  always 
afraid  that  my  black  gown  isn't  in  the  color  scheme." 

Mrs.  Fleming  laughed.  "  Oh,  I  lived  through  Ada's  color 
schemes,  and  you  will,  too;  I  shouldn't  feel  badly  about 
them,  they  may  all  be  changed  next  year.  You'd  better 
marry,  Maria,"  she  added. 

"  Do  you  think  I'd  make  myself  a  laughing-stock  on  this 
Island?  No!  but  I'd  like  my  own  little  house  where  I 
could  have  my  friends  in  to  tea  or  dinner.  I  never  feel 
free  to  invite  anyone  these  days.  Besides,  the  house  is 
becoming  a  perfect  hostelry.  Ada  has  sometimes  as  many 
as  four  men  in  to  dinner;  and  I  don't  call  them  well-bred, 
but  then,  of  course,  I  am  old-fashioned." 

"  How  does  Neal  like  that?  " 

"  He  doesn't  like  it ;  I  can  tell  from  little  signs." 

"  Oh,  he  needn't  be  afraid  of  Ada ;  she's  too  cold  !  " 

"  She  seems  to  stir  up  these  men.  Young  Carroll  haunts 
the  house.  You  and  I,  Alberta,  had  to  be  content  with  our 
husbands.  I  don't  call  it  quite  becoming  in  a  good  woman." 

Mrs.  Fleming  smiled.  "  Ada  would  shriek  with  amuse- 
ment if  she  heard  herself  described  as  a  '  good  woman.' 
Why,  here  is  Neal — home  so  early  ?  " 

Neal  had  come  to  the  open  door  of  his  aunt's  bedroom, 
and  Mrs.  Fleming,  fortunately,  had  seen  him  in  time  to 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  217 

catch  up  his  name  easily.  He  said,  in  reply  to  this  ques- 
tion, "  I  have  a  public  dinner  on  to-night.  Can  we  have 
tea  up  here,  Maria?  Graham  tells  me  Ada  is  out  riding." 

Maria  rang  the  bell  with  every  evidence  of  pleasure. 
She  was  always  flattered  when  Neal  came  to  her  with  a 
request;  and  she  enjoyed  dispensing  hospitality  from  the 
only  room  in  Carmichael  House  of  which  she  felt  undis- 
puted mistress.  As  it  opened  upon  a  kind  of  broad  bal- 
cony shaded  with  an  awning,  she  proposed  that  they  have 
tea  out  there. 

"  And,  Graham,  serve  strawberries,  and  those  little  choco- 
late cakes  with  soft  filling.  Alberta,  will  you  have  muffins 
or  toast  ? " 

Mrs.  Fleming  expressed  her  preference,  secretly  amused 
at  Maria's  order.  It  was  one  of  Mrs.  Guthrie's  daily  per- 
plexities that  she  should  take  so  much  pleasure  in  Ada's 
abundant  housekeeping.  When  tea  was  served  Jack  had 
joined  the  company — looking  more  blooming  than  ever. 
His  eyes,  of  that  soft  cornflower  blue  so  often  possessed 
by  men  of  his  temperament,  were  placid  as  a  baby's. 

"  Where's  Ada?"  he  inquired. 

"  Riding,"  Neal  answered  laconically.  He  had  been 
afraid  to  inquire  with  whom  Ada  had  gone  to  ride,  since  he 
would  be  inclined  to  punch  the  fatuous  head  of  young 
Carroll,  whom  he  suspected  as  responsible  for  the  ex- 
pedition. 

"/  must  ride,  if  I  hope  to  walk  with  comfort,"  Jack 
remarked.  "  Another  cup,  Maria,  and  don't  forget  the 
sugar." 

Tea-comforted  at  last,  they  all  leaned  back  in  their 
wicker  chairs  to  enjoy  the  distant  blue  of  the  ocean,  the  late 
golden  light  in  the  treetops.  Sweet  garden  scents  came 
to  them.  Carmichael  House  was  rejoicing  in  its  summer 
glories,  and  for  awhile  it  was  easy  for  the  dreamers 
on  the  balcony  to  believe  that  they  were  creators,  not 
dreamers. 

Only  Neal  was  not  responding  to  the  influence  of  the 
hour.  That  he  worked  early  and  late,  only  slipping  home 


2i8  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

occasionally  at  odd  hours,  was  no  excuse  for  Ada  to  be 
off  with  young  men  who  were  making  themselves  fools 
over  her.  He  was  beginning  to  resent  this  court  of  hers, 
composed  mostly  of  wealthy  and  idle  boys  not  long  out  of 
college,  who  seemed  to  think  themselves  privileged  to  drop 
in  any  time  with  all  manner  of  flimsy  excuses,  and  who 
were  barely  civil  to  him,  their  host. 

Did  they  know,  he  wondered,  that  Ada's  money  was  back 
of  all  the  luxuries  of  Carmichael  House?  Neal's  flesh 
tingled  at  the  thought.  He  had  moments  when  he  visioned 
himself  begging  Ada  to  come  away  with  him  and  live  in 
the  style  his  income  warranted.  But  these  reactions  were 
only  temporary.  She  could  banish  his  scruples — and  she 
seemed  to  discover  his  thoughts  through  some  mysterious 
vibratory  communication — she  could  banish  his  scruples  by 
no  greater  magic  than  putting  her  arms  about  him,  or 
touching  her  cheek  lightly  to  his,  or  inviting  him  to  drowsy 
midnight  speech  when  kisses  took  the  place  of  words. 

He  was  apprehensive  now  lest  what  he  feared  should 
come  upon  him — the  spectacle  of  Ada  riding  home  with 
young  Carroll.  The  balcony  commanded  a  view  of  the  car- 
riage drive,  but  those  on  the  drive  could  not  very  well  see 
people  on  the  balcony  because  of  the  low,  deep  awning. 
Neal  strained  his  ears  for  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  on 
the  gravel,  and,  after  awhile,  he  caught  that  for  which  he 
listened, — no  commonplace  thud  of  feet,  but  a  mystic  echo 
of  destiny. 

The  beginnings  of  unhappiness,  often  traced  in  many  a 
flowery  scene,  have  about  them  always  something  elusive 
and  spectral :  and  disturb  before  they  are  understood.  Neal, 
listening  and  waiting  on  the  balcony,  felt  a  vague,  far-off 
suffering,  a  disinclination  to  look  into  the  faces  of  the  people 
about  him.  The  long  avenue  drew  him  like  a  mysterious 
perspective  of  fate,  for  now  the  horses  and  their  riders 
came  into  view,  Ada  a  lithe  figure  on  a  bay  mare,  the 
sunlight  crisping  her  hair  to  gold.  A  rose  was  tucked  into 
her  linen  riding  coat.  She  was  smiling,  and  apparently 
silent;  but  Carroll  seemed  making  the  most  of  his  oppor- 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  219 

tunities,  for  he  was  leaning  towards  her  in  a  boyish,  eager 
attitude,  his  face  pale  and  intent.  Neal  watched  the  pair 
with  quick-coming  breath  and  somber  speculation  in  his 
eyes.  Jack,  having  no  wish  that  his  nephew  should  appear 
in  the  role  of  the  jealous  husband,  asked  him  to  explain  an 
editorial  in  the  morning's  issue  of  The  Courier. 

Neal  took  the  hint  and  became  talkative;  but  no  sound 
of  life,  evidently,  reached  Ada  from  the  balcony,  or  else 
she  didn't  care,  for  reining  her  horse  in  the  circle  before 
the  porte-cochere  she  continued  talking  in  a  low  tone  to 
Carroll,  ending  whatever  she  had  to  say  by  the  withdrawal 
of  the  rose  from  her  coat.  For  a  moment — Neal's  eyes  were 
all  for  her  now — she  toyed  with  it,  passing  and  repassing 
it  across  her  lips,  then  came  what  he  was  tormentedly 
expecting,  its  bestowal  upon  Carroll. 

Jack  at  this  moment  broke  a  plate,  diverting  the  two 
matrons  who  had  flashed  glances  at  each  other.  Neal  took 
advantage  of  the  confusion  to  slip  away.  Descending  the 
stairs  he  met  Ada. 

"Hello,  dear!"  she  said  gayly.  "You  home?  What  a 
nice  surprise ! "  Then  stopped  short,  for  his  face  was 
stern. 

"  Ada,"  he  said  in  a  sharp  voice,  "  I  don't  like  this  kind 
of  thing — and " 

"  Don't  make  a  scene  on  the  staircase,"  she  interrupted 
him. 

She  swept  past  him,  and  he  turned  and  followed  her, 
emptied  of  his  wrath.  Had  his  voice  been  loud  ?  He  hoped 
not.  He  accompanied  her  into  her  bedroom,  closing  the 
door  behind  them,  but  she  said  nothing  to  him.  Sitting 
down  before  her  dressing-table,  she  unbuttoned  the  elastic 
that  held  her  hat,  patted  her  hair  with  her  white  fingers, 
then  turned  and  regarded  him  coolly. 

"  Have  you  eaten  something  that  disagreed  with  you, 
Neal  ? — you  silly — you  old  silly !  " 

He  did  not  answer.  He  had  already  discovered  that 
impulsive  speech  put  him  at  a  disadvantage  with  her.  This 
banishment  of  spontaneity  had  been  one  of  the  first  signals 


220  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

of  disillusion  in  his  married  life,  but  he  still  put  the  blame 
upon  himself.  He  had  been  always  too  outspoken,  too 
emotional,  too  much  ruled  by  the  moment.  Now  he  waited, 
trying  to  formulate  clear,  incisive  sentences  which  would 
put  everything  right  at  once.  But  Ada's  eyes,  fixed  upon 
him,  were  exercising  their  talent  of  destroying  another's 
self-possession  while  retaining  her  own.  Neal,  as  she  gazed, 
was  very  near  to  begging  her  pardon. 

But  he  rallied  his  forces  in  a  last  effort  to  stand  his 
ground.  She  had  no  right  to  be  coquetting  with  other  men. 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  he  burst  out  at  last. 

"  '  Like  it  ?  '     What  are  you  talking  about,  rude  one  ?  " 

"  Why  is  young  Carroll  at  your  heels  every  minute." 

"  Oh,  it's  Carroll  you  object  to !  " 

"  I  certainly  object  to  your  handing  him  a  rose  that  you 
have  first  kissed." 

"  '  Kissed  ?  "  She  gazed  at  him  with  the  innocent  aston- 
ishment of  a  child. 

"  Well,  you  had  it  at  your  lips." 

"  Saint  Jean  Baptiste !  "  she  laughed.  "  Oh,  but  you  are 
droll.  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do,  milord,  while  you  are 
pursuing  fame  in  yonder  city — sit  and  embroider  with 
Maria,  or  play  chess  with  your  grandfather?  My  dear,  if 
you  wish  to  keep  me  in  this  house,  you  must  let  me  out  of 
it;  which  is  Irish,  but  I  can't  help  it." 

"  Ride  all  you  can,  and  with  whom  you  please,  but  keep 
them  at  their  distance.  Young  Carroll  is  all  but  engaged 
to  Mary  Faulkner." 

"  Am  I  depriving  Mary  of  her  man  ?  I  am  not  responsi- 
ble if  she  can't  hold  him.  He's  a  nice  boy,  and  she  treats 
him  as  if  he  were  a  lord  of  the  universe.  No  wonder  he 
is  bored." 

"  You  could  decline  to  go  riding  with  him." 

"Would  that  send  his  thoughts  back  to  her?  Oh,  Neal, 
you  don't  know  anything  at  all ! " 

He  stood  looking  at  her,  quite  discomfited,  uneasy  and 
helpless.  Then  grim  humor  seized  him.  An  image  of  him- 
self as  a  connubial  acolyte  rose  before  his  mental  vision. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  221 

Time  to  stop  posturing  and  crooking  the  knee  to  this  beau- 
tiful wife! 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  he  said  lightly.  "  I  am  willing  to  learn, 
Ada,  and  whoop  it  up  to  any  extent.  I'll  be  play-boy  to 
any  disconsolate  virgin  whose  man  is  wearing  your  rose 
over  his  cigarette  case  pocket,  and  blowing  kisses  to  you 
between  rings  of  smoke." 

She  stared  at  him,  then  frowned.  "  That  wouldn't  be- 
come you  at  all.  You  are  about  as  well  fitted  for  the  role 
as  Philip  when  he's  lecturing  to  school-teachers  on  the 
expurgated  editions  of  Ovid." 

"  Aren't  I  a  Don  John  ?  Oh,  well,  Ada,  I  can  learn. 
For  God's  sake,  don't  let's  take  our  marriage  seriously. 
That  would  be  a  great  mistake." 

"  /  am  taking  it  seriously,"  she  replied.  "  I  love  you 
enough  to  put  up  with  this  whole  family  for  your  sake." 

"  Are  they  so  trying?  " 

"  They  are  not  amusing.  If  they  weren't  so  good-looking 
I'd  leave  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  let's  leave." 

"  That  sounds  very  well.    You  know  you  wouldn't  go." 

Neal  reflected  a  moment.  "  I  am  not  so  keen  on  French 
chefs — I'd  rather  support  you." 

"  On  an  income  of  four  thousand  a  year !    You're  crazy." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  am.  I've  been  crazy  ever  since  I 
first  saw  you." 

"  You  had  a  sane  interval,  I  suppose,  when  you  engaged 
yourself  to  Patricia." 

"  Don't,  Ada." 

The  weary  effort  to  jest  was  abandoned.  He  looked 
hungrily  at  her,  wondering  when,  jesting  aside  and  quar- 
reling aside,  they  would  come  at  last  into  the  unity  for 
which  his  soul  was  parched.  He  was  always  fevered  these 
days  through  some  frustrated  longing  which  nothing  satis- 
fied, learning  indeed  that  neither  the  marriage  service  nor 
his  possession  of  Ada  had  really  mated  him  with  her.  Bell, 
book  and  candle  were  as  ineffectual  as  physical  union  to 
effect  the  unity  of  two  who  looked  at  life  from  different 


222  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

angles.  He  was  always  trying  to  see  as  Ada  saw  ;  the  result 
was  astigmatism. 

Yet  he  remained  hopeful  because  he  was  still  wrestling 
with  the  problem.  He  did. not  yet  realize  that  on  the  day 
when  pain  was  over  he  would  come  into  danger. 

His  reception  of  her  reference  to  Patricia  did  not  please 
her.  Was  the  root  of  an  old  affection  still  in  his  breast? 
Ada  could  not  tolerate  the  idea.  Her  triumph  over  her 
rival,  to  be  complete,  must  be  a  rout  in  the  region  of  Neal's 
memory.  That  Patricia  still  loved  Neal,  Ada  did  not  for 
a  moment  doubt;  and  the  thought  sometimes  gave  her 
uneasiness  since  a  living  love  has  magnetic  power,  and 
even  at  a  distance  can  work  its  influence.  No  seed  must 
be  in  Neal's  breast  to  respond  to  that  warmth. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  Ada  asked,  as  he  moved  to- 
wards the  door  of  the  dressing-room. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  the  Civic  Federation  dinner  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  you  are  chairman !  What  are  they  talking 
about?" 

"  The  poor,  as  usual." 

"Develop  their  wills — that  will  save  them,"  Ada  said 
brusquely. 

Neal  shrugged  his  shoulders.    "  If  I  were  God " 

"  Well,  you  are  only  chairman  of  a  dinner.  Come  and 
kiss  me,  sulky  one !  You  proud  thing !  " 

She  tilted  back  her  face,  her  eyes  mischievous,  her  lips 
pouted  to  receive  his  kiss.  As  his  lips  touched  hers  all 
his  scruples  vanished,  and  he  kissed  her  again  and  again, 
on  her  throat,  her  lips,  her  forehead. 

He  took  some  bitterness  with  him  as  he  went  away, 
wondering  why  he  was  willing  to  have  Ada  on  her  own 
terms — and  thus  earn  her  half-amused  contempt.  He 
longed  for  equal  shares  in  the  game,  not  realizing  that  only 
a  community  of  feeling  can  provide  this. 

On  his  way  to  the  city  his  thoughts  were  constantly  with 
her.  Why  was  he  so  often  unhappy? 

She  denied  nothing  to  his  passion,  nothing  to  his  demands 
for  her  companionship;  she  seemed,  indeed,  pleased  to  be 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  223 

with  him.  Yet  her  very  compliance  might  spring  from  a 
profound  indifference.  Was  it  true  that  if  she  were  suf- 
ficiently amused  and  physically  comfortable,  she  wanted 
nothing  else  ? 

As  usual  he  ended  his  questions  by  doubting  himself,  not 
her.  Gratitude  alone  should  keep  his  thoughts  uncritical, 
but  not  even  his  abundant  comforts  lulled  him  to  acquies- 
cence. Of  late  he  had  the  sensation  of  walking  in  a  circle. 
Life  had  become  like  the  recurrent  pattern  of  a  wall  paper. 
Nerves  rebelled  at  one  more  castle  in  the  trees  with  the 
eternal,  simpering  group.  He  had  longed  for  the  crisis  of 
parenthood  as  the  initiation  to  a  truer  understanding  be- 
tween him  and  his  wife,  but  Ada  was  refusing  motherhood, 
frankly  declaring  that  she  hated  children. 

Of  what  use  then  was  their  passion !  Neal  shrank  from 
its  self-involvements,  its  enormous  devouring  egoism.  He 
could  not  understand  a  fruitless  love. 

With  this  melancholy  undercurrent  to  his  thoughts,  he 
took  his  place  as  chairman  at  the  dinner,  which  now  made 
ironical  appeal  to  his  sense  of  the  incongruous.  For  a 
dinner  in  the  cause  of  the  relief  of  poverty,  it  could  scarcely 
have  been  more  extravagant ;  the  wines,  especially,  being  of 
a  quality  suitable  to  a  campaign  in  favor  of  the  under- 
dog, for  they  were  mellow  enough  to  infuse  even  a  re- 
luctant breast  with  a  sense  of  universal  brotherhood,  and 
pity  for  those  who  could  not  afford  them! 

Neal  looked  at  the  scene  as  if  it  were  a  part  of  opera- 
bouffe.  Even  the  Cardinal's  amethyst  ring  seemed  to 
preach  the  doctrine  that  to  sympathize  thoroughly  with 
misery  you  must  be  raised  above  it.  He  wondered  what 
the  assemblage  would  say  if,  leaving  his  place,  he  should 
go  into  the  streets  and  return  with  the  first  scarecrow  he 
met,  to  listen  to  specialists  discuss  the  scarecrow's  problem. 
Perhaps  if  they  filled  a  plate  and  wineglass  for  him,  the 
scarecrow  might  even  become  a  specialist  on  his  own  case, 
so  potent  is  a  comfortable  body  for  wise  adjudication. 

Going  home  late  on  the  ferry  he  met  Divine.  "  Why 
weren't  you  at  the  dinner?  "  Neal  asked. 


224  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  I  can't  talk  about  the  needs  of  the  poor  over  cham- 
pagne. It's  too  absurd.  Besides,  they  never  go  to  the  root 
of  the  matter." 

"  I  am  going  to  have  it  out  with  you  some  day,  Divine, 
about  the  root  of  the  matter." 

"  Come  home  with  me  now  and  have  it  out,  as  you 
say." 

Neal  assented  gladly.  The  encounter  with  Ada,  the 
banalities  of  the  dinner,  had  filled  him  with  restlessness, 
with  a  sense  of  the  gulf  between  his  theories  and  his  prac- 
tice. As  the  ferryboat  neared  the  slip  he  found  himself 
behind  two  workingmen,  one  of  whom  held  a  copy  of  the 
morning's  Courier  and  was  evidently  discoursing  to  the 
other  on  an  editorial  Neal  had  written,  a  biting  arraign- 
ment of  a  certain  railroad  whose  policy  was  always  sacrifice 
safety  to  dividends. 

"  Great  stuff,"  one  remarked. 

"  If  Carmichael  wrote  it,  he's  got  nerve,"  the  other  an- 
swered. "  My  second  girl  is  one  of  the  maids  up  there, 
and  I  know  about  that  family.  His  rich  wife's  one  of  the 
biggest  shareholders  in  that  road." 

"  Easy  to  fight  when  your  belly's  full." 

They  both  laughed  and  slouched  on  their  way,  leaving 
Neal  with  his  flesh  tingling  as  under  the  lash  of  a  whip. 
The  diabolical  incongruity  of  his  position  flashed  across  his 
mind  with  a  new  vividness.  Influenced  by  a  too  great  sense 
of  delicacy,  almost  as  fatal  to  mutual  understanding  as  the 
curiosities  of  the  vulgar,  he  had  never  even  inquired  how 
Ada's  money  was  invested,  though  he  knew  that  her  father 
had  had  large  railroading  interests.  Peter  handled  all  that. 
And  since  Ada  had  elected  to  live  at  Carmichael  House, 
and  to  run  Carmichael  House  on  a  scale  commensurate  with 
her  liberal  American  imagination  in  those  matters,  to  probe 
as  to  the  sources  of  her  income  had  seemed  all  the  more 
impossible. 

Neal  turned  an  amazed  face  to  Divine.  "  Did  you  hear 
that?" 

"  I  did." 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  225 

"  Precious  bounder  they  must  think  me,  preaching  one 
thing,  practicing  another !  " 

Divine  was  silent.  He  had  had  his  own  reflections  con- 
cerning Neal's  situation  as  an  idealist  under  enormous 
obligations  to  a  wealthy  wife,  but  he  had  never  made  the 
mistake — having  followed  the  course  of  the  affair  from  the 
first — of  charging  Neal  with  mercenary  motives.  He  was 
doing  the  best  he  could  with  his  compromises — and  not 
fully  awake  to  them!  Divine  had  known  for  some  time 
that  the  moment  of  awakening  could  not  be  long  in  coming, 
since  Neal  was  too  sensitive  to  the  superior  logic  of  life 
to  remain  long  unconscious  of  the  discrepancy  between  his 
doctrines  and  his  practice. 

Neal  was  facing  himself,  indeed,  from  a  new  angle.  A 
smile  drifted  for  a  moment  over  his  irregular  features,  the 
sign  of  some  sardonic  repentance,  some  shadowy  action 
which  he  knew  would  never  transpire  beyond  the  borders 
of  his  brain.  Ada's  serene  enjoyment  of  wealth,  coupled 
with  her  desire  that  he  should  gain  glory  through  his  ideal- 
ism, would  continue  to  produce  confusion. 

Divine's  study  on  the  ground  floor  of  his  old-fashioned 
house  was  a  comfortable  shabby  room,  lined  with  books 
and  well  stocked  with  armchairs.  Two  staghounds  kept 
guard  on  the  hearthrug,  while  presiding  over  the  sanctities 
of  the  desk  was  a  black  Persian  cat,  by  name  Pompey,  with 
eyes  like  yellow  globes  and  a  fine  plume  of  a  tail,  which  he 
waved  majestically  on  Divine's  entrance  as  he  advanced  to 
meet  his  master  with  feline  rumbles  of  pleasure. 

"  Divine,  I've  come  to  a  deadlock !  "  Neal  said,  when  they 
were  comfortably  seated.  "  I  can't  go  on  with  The  Courier! 
I  can't  preach  one  thing  and  practice  another." 

"  I  want  you  to  go  on  with  it.  I  want  you  to  take  my 
place  before  long." 

Neal  looked  alarmed.     "You  are  not  giving  up?" 

"The  paper?  Yes,  in  a  year  or  so.  Did  you  know  that 
I  am  studying  for  the  priesthood — in  the  Episcopal 
Church?" 

Neal  raised  himself  to  an  erect  position. 


226  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  You  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Even  I !  " 

Neal  was  silent  through  sheer  amazement.  It  seemed 
incomprehensible  to  him  that  Divine,  with  his  alert,  modern 
mind,  his  wealth  of  historical  study,  his  experiences  in  India 
as  a  student  of  a  philosophy  far  more  profound,  as  it  ap- 
peared to  Neal,  than  the  accepted  Christian  doctrine,  should 
put  his  neck  under  the  yoke  of  tradition,  accepting  a  lim- 
ited service  beneath  a  narrow  rule. 

"  But — why  ?  "  he  stammered. 

"  Because  I  have  thought  for  a  long  time  that  the  Church 
has  need  of  men  who  come  to  Her  after  an  apprenticeship 
in  the  world." 

He  began  to  speak  more  intimately  than  he  had  ever 
before  done  of  a  search  begun  out  of  the  depths  of  what 
had  seemed  an  unassuagable  grief  for  a  woman  who  had 
died,  and  which  had  brought  him,  not  to  a  creed,  but  to 
a  Life.  His  narrative  was  slow,  deliberate,  selected,  as  if 
he  were  trying  to  avoid  in  the  presentation  of  his  case  both 
mysticism  and  a  too  literal  confession  of  faith ;  yet  through 
it  ran  a  poignant  appeal  to  something  in  Neal's  own  nature, 
asleep  for  the  most  part,  but  stirring  him  at  times  into 
wistful  inquiry,  into  longing  for  some  divine  logic  which 
should  knit  the  contradictory  events  of  life  with  the  order- 
liness of  the  ideal  world.  Divine  seemed  more  preoccupied 
with  a  Person  than  a  system,  a  Person  still  perpetuating 
life  through  mysterious  contact  with  the  hearts  of  men. 

They  fell  silent  after  awhile.  Divine  longed  to  comfort 
Neal,  for  whom  he  foresaw  a  long  ordeal  before  he  entered 
upon  the  Way.  Ada  was  his  barrier  to  the  life  of  the  spirit, 
would  be,  indeed,  until  Neal  crushed  her  or  was  crushed 
by  her. 

Neal  rose  to  go  at  last.  "  I'll  hang  on  to  The  Courier  as 
long  as  I  can,"  he  promised.  "  As  for  these  other  matters, 
I  am  yet — groping." 

Divine  nodded.  "  We  are  all  slain  by  our  experiences — 
but  we  live  again !  " 


BOOK  IV 
CARMICHAEL'S  COMING  OF  AGE 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

"  AND  you  do  not  intend  to  marry,  then  ?  What  keeps 
ye  from  marryin'  Thomas  Murphy,  a  good  Catholic  like 
yourself.  Do  you  harbor  a  sinful  thought  in  your  heart?" 

The  speaker  was  Father  Carew,  who  was  addressing 
Patricia  within  the  precincts  of  St.  Margaret's  Church  on 
a  December  afternoon  about  four  years  after  the  events 
which  had  sent  Neal  Carmichael  to  his  marriage,  and 
Patricia  into  the  loneliness  of  frustrated  love. 

Father  Carew's  question  set  her  trembling.  Would  the 
authority  of  the  Church  break  down,  at  last,  the  authority 
of  her  heart,  which  shrank  from  the  thought  of  any  union 
but  one.  Since  Neal  was  married  to  another,  she  could 
but  go  widowed  to  her  appointed  end. 

" a  sinful  thought  in  my  heart !  " 

She  repeated  his  words,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  breath 
as  if  a  sob  lay  beneath  speech.  Her  hand  groped  out  and 
rested  for  a  moment  on  a  pew-door  while  her  eyes,  large  and 
mournful,  looked  towards  the  red  glow  of  the  sanctuary 
lamp  that  hung  before  a  high,  dark  painting  of  the  Cruci- 
fixion. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  confessional,  Father,"  she  answered 
with  pathetic  dignity. 

"  And  you  tell  me  nothing,  when  you  are  there,"  Father 
Carew  replied  impatiently.  "  It's  me  fancy  that  you  are 
longin'  for  things  forbidden — God  forgive  you.  You  know 
better  than  that,  Patricia,  for  you  are  a  good  girl.  Why 
didn't  you  marry  young  Carmichael,  if  you  felt  that  way 
about  him?  Better  that  than  this  death  in  life." 

She  shrank  back.  All  the  color  ebbed  from  her  face,  and, 
seeing  how  he  had  hurt  her,  Father  Carew  turned  and 
left  her.  After  a  while  her  immobility  gave  way  to  a  desire 
to  reach  the  sacred  place  where  the  red  light  hung,  per- 

229 


230  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

petually  attesting  a  divine  tragedy.  She  bowed  herself  at 
last,  before  a  Mystery  which  had  ceased  to  comfort  her. 
Not  to  remember  her  lost  love  was  death,  and  she  subsisted 
on  transgression;  yet  pray  she  must  to  this  Savior  who 
hung  in  eternal  sorrow  on  the  Cross,  since  prayer  was  as 
much  a  habit  of  her  life  as  the  thoughts  she  could  not 
conquer. 

She  rose  at  last  and  went  slowly  down  the  aisle.  By 
the  holy  water  stoup  Thomas  Murphy  was  waiting  for 
her.  Their  fingers  touched  as  they  reached  their  hands  to 
the  water,  then  crossed  themselves,  their  gaze  upon  each 
other,  far  away  from  the  rite  they  were  performing.  Rais- 
ing the  heavy  leather  curtain  for  her,  they  passed  from  the 
thick  incense-perfumed  air  into  the  cold  vestibule. 

"Which  way,  Pat?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  ought  to  go  and  see  how  Uncle  Shamus 
is.  He  has  a  cold." 

"May  I  walk  along?" 

"  Yes." 

Her  mood  was  humble  and  weary.  Father  Carew's 
words  were  sounding  in  her  ears — "  Do  you  harbor  a  sinful 
thought  in  your  heart  ?  " 

Must  she  be  forever  confronted  with  that  sin  ?  How  end 
it?  Should  she  marry?  Should  she  put  this  honest  man 
between  her  and  the  dark  gulfs  of  consciousness  which 
threatened  to  overwhelm  her?  Must  she  marry  as  per- 
forming a  kind  of  supreme  penance,  burying  joy  in  duty? 

Thomas  was  equally  humble.  The  old  tyranny  and 
arrogance  of  his  passion  had  been  worn  out  by  his  long 
waiting.  He  no  longer  thought  of  the  wrecking  yard  and 
the  superlative  taste  of  his  neckties  as  avenues  to  a  woman's 
heart,  now  become  more  mysterious  to  him  than  the  shrines 
of  St.  Margaret's.  He  was  solicitous  of  Patricia  these  days, 
thought  much  of  her  health,  wondered  if  she  were  over- 
worked, wondered,  half- jealously,  if  what  she  heard  of 
events  at  Carmichael  House  saddened  her. 

It  was  known  to  fnany  dwellers  on  the  Island  now  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Neal  Carmichael  were  not  in  accord.  Ada's 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  231 

meteoric  flashes  across  the  vision  of  the  populace  left  even 
the  least  observing  with  the  impression  that  she  was  gay 
and  that  she  kept  about  her  always  a  court  of  young  men. 
Because  of  his  devotion  to  her,  it  was  rumored,  a  certain 
Carlton  had  broken  his  engagement  and  a  girl's  heart.  It 
was  known  that  she  and  her  husband  were  rarely  seen  to- 
gether, and  when  together  were  like  strangers. 

Of  course  Patricia  must  know  these  things,  though  Neal's 
name  never  crossed  her  lips.  Murphy  was  jealous  at  times 
of  that  very  silence,  troubled  over  what  it  might  portend. 

To-day  the  mood  of  both  drew  them  into  a  kind  of 
weary  accord.  They  walked  on  together  through  the  gray 
December  day  with  bowed  heads.  Cross-streets  gave  them 
glimpses  of  the  harbor,  steely  beneath  a  snowy  sky,  and  of 
the  distant  city,  a  congestion  of  impossible  towers. 

"Pat?" 

"  Yes,  Tommie." 

His  heart  leaped  at  the  word  "  Tommie."  When  they 
went  to  public  school  together  she  used  to  call  him  by  that 
name. 

"  Pat,  dear,  can't  you  ever  think  of  me  again  ?  " 

To  his  surprise  she  replied,  "  I  do  think  of  you  often. 
You've  been  very  good  to  me." 

"  I'd  like  to  be  better.  I'd  like  to  take  care  of  you.  I 
guess  you  don't  know  how  tired  you  look  some  days." 

"  I  am  tired,"  she  admitted. 

"  Pat,  dear,  won't  you  say  you'll  marry  me  some  day?" 

Again  she  was  to  surprise  him,  overwhelm  him  with  the 
unexpectedness  of  her  answer. 

"  You  can  have  me,  Thomas." 

He  stopped  short  and  seized  her  hand,  then  dropped  it, 
recollecting  where  they  were. 

"  Patricia,  dear !    I've  waited  so  long  for  this." 

There  was  no  answering  light  in  her  face.  She  began 
to  speak  slowly  as  if  the  words  hurt  her. 

"  I  must  be  true  with  you.  I  am  marrying  you — not 
because  I  love  you.  That  you  mustn't  ask,  for  I  cannot 
force  my  feelings.  I'll  be  a  good  wife  to  you,  but  I  don't 


232  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

love  you  as  a  wife  should  love  her  husband.  If  knowing1 
this  you  still  want  me " 

But  he  scarcely  heard  the  words,  gazing  at  her  like  a 
man  transfixed.  Passion  again  leaped  up  in  him,  the  old 
overmastering  flame  which  would  have  its  way.  He 
wanted  to  possess  her,  draw  her  into  his  life.  Passion 
which,  unlike  love,  takes  no  thought  of  another's  will, 
again  enthralled  him,  stopped  his  ears  to  her  faltering 
words,  closed  his  eyes  to  her  pallor,  to  the  look,  half- 
frightened,  which  stole  into  her  face  at  the  fierce  desire 
in  his  gaze.  Already  she  was  dumfounded  by  her  capitula- 
tion, the  result  of  a  frightened  mood,  of  her  recognition  of 
an  authority  greater  than  her  own  heart,  and  which  had 
power  to  loose  or  to  bind.  But  the  word  was  inexorably 
given.  The  very  inevitableness  of  it  might  prove  her  anchor 
of  salvation.  With  quickened  breath  she  hurried  on, 
Thomas  scarcely  able  to  keep  pace  with  her.  At  the  en- 
trance to  the  Mariner's  Rest  she  paused. 

"  I  must  go  in  alone,  Thomas." 

"  May  I  call  at  the  house  this  evening?" 

"  Yes — you — may — come,"  she  faltered. 

"  Give  me  one  kiss,  Pat." 

She  shrank  from  him.     "  Not  on  the  street." 

"  To-night,  then." 

"  I  must  go.    It's  late." 

She  hurried  up  the  long  avenue,  her  heart's  pulses 
sounding  like  the  strokes  of  doom  in  her  ears.  It  had 
come  at  last — the  surrender  she  had  long  known  was 
inevitable  despite  her  aversions,  her  resolutions.  The 
Church,  her  family,  her  environment,  Thomas's  will,  each 
was  an  element  of  a  compelling  force  stronger  than  her 
despair,  which  was  now  giving  way  to  a  kind  of  unnatural 
buoyancy,  the  first  effects  of  surrender.  This  was  the 
last  supreme  sacrifice.  Father  Carew  would  be  satisfied, 
her  own  people  relieved,  Thomas  would  know  the  mascu- 
line victory  of  mere  man  over  mere  woman. 

She  shivered,  thinking  of  the  end  of  the  logic  that  hour 
had  begun.  She  was  Neal's,  yet  she  had  pledged  herself 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  233 

to  Thomas.  In  her  ears  rang  his  exultant  tones.  She  felt 
again  his  assured,  devouring  gaze — but  the  word  could  not 
be  unspoken ! 

Half-dazed  and  weary  she  made  her  way  to  the  familiar 
door. 

Uncle  Shamus  chirped  at  sight  of  her,  and  demanded  a 
slice  of  his  favorite  cake.  While  she  was  cutting  it,  his 
good  eye  regarded  her  through  its  film  of  over  ninety 
years. 

"You  are  pale,  Pat,  dear?" 

"  I'm  so  busy,  Uncle  Shamus." 

"  Be  you  niver  goin'  to  rest  ?  " 

"  There's  always  something  to  be  done." 

"  Give  the  Lord  a  chance,  do,  colleen !  Sure,  you  lave 
nothin'  to  His  greatness  at  all,  at  all." 

She  sighed.     "  There's  work  to  be  done,"  she  repeated. 

"  The  Lord  don't  mane  ye  to  be  thin  and  drear-eyed 
for  no  causes  of  His'n,"  Shamus  said,  munching  his  cake. 

She  came  and  sat  near  him  by  the  fire,  her  hands  cupped 
to  hold  her  chin  in  the  old  fashion. 

"  Uncle  Shamus,  dear,"  she  said  finally. 

"  Yes,  lass  o'  mine." 

"  Can  you  keep  two  people  apart  who  love  each  other  ?  " 

Shamus  puffed  at  his  pipe  and  reflected.  Then  he  began 
his  answer  with  the  old  familiar  preface,  "  The  man  that 
war  a  Rosicrucian  said " 

At  that  point  he  was  again  plunged  in  a  fog  of  brood- 
ing. Patricia  waited  patiently,  thinking  that  this  Unknown, 
whatever  his  titles,  must  have  had  the  real  spirit  in  him,  to 
be  remembered  through  long  years  by  an  unlettered  seaman. 

"What  did  he  say,  Uncle  Shamus?"  she  asked  at  last. 

"  He  said  two  people  who  loved  each  other  was  stronger 
than  armies,  and  rocks,  and  high  winds,  and  water  come 
freshet  time;  but  they  was  strongest  when " 

He  paused,  his  mind  groping  in  the  mists  of  the  past  for 
the  exact  sense — "  when  they  was — three — not  two." 

"Three?    Their  child  the  third ?" 

"  The  third  wasn't  their  choild  or  childer — but  Him  as 


234  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

trod  the  sea,  and  walked  in  Pilate's  palace.  Leastwise, 
that's  what  I  made  out'n  it,  for  I  hearn  him  tell  Bob 
Rafferty  one  day  about  this  other  one.  Bob,  he  loved  a  lass 
that  gave  him  the  go-by — and  Bob  one  day  was  a-swearin' 
to  hurt  her  someways. 

" '  The  Third  One,'  says  the  Rosicrucian,  '  warn't  no 
part  of  your  bargainin'  then,  else  you'd  love  the  lass  yet, 
and  long  from  the  depths  of  your  sinful  heart  to  serve  her.' 

" '  Who  be  the  Third  One  ? '  says  Bob,  '  ef  it  warn't  that 
damned  Michael,  that  come  courtin'  my  girl  ?  ' 

"  '  I  don't  mean  him,'  says  the  Rosicrucian,  '  but  the  One 
that  stays  with  the  mother  when  the  child's  in  the  grave; 
and  walks  among  the  stars  for  all  the  world  like  a  singer 
ir.  a  field  of  June  daisies — Him's  the  one  I  mane.' 

"  '  You  mane  the  Lord,'  cries  Bob.  '  Sure  I  niver  thought 
to  tell  Him  about  the  maiden ! ' 

" '  Down  on  your  knees  now  thin,  an'  ask  Lord  Christ 
to  tache  ye  the  way  of  lovinV 

"  So  Bob,  after  a  whoile,  he  got  down  on  his  knees  and 
says  he,  '  I'll  be  afther  knowin'  that  Third  One  yet,  ef  it 
be  the  way  of  gettin'  my  lass  back.' " 

"  Did  he  get  her  ?  "  Patricia  asked. 

"  Their  grandchilder  lives  up  in  the  city." 

She  sat  silent  for  some  time,  then  reached  out  her  hand 
and  covered  the  gnarled  hand  that  rested  on  the  arm  of 
the  chair. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  married,  Uncle  Shamus,  but  the  Third 
One  won't  be  there." 

Uncle  Shamus  took  out  his  pipe  and  stared  at  her. 
"  You're  foolin'  me." 

"  No,  it's  true.  I  have  just  told  Thomas  I'd  marry 
him." 

Shamus  gave  a  sad  grunt.  "  Did  you  look  like  that  when 
you  said  it — ef  you  did  he's  no  cause  to  feel  chesty.  Why, 
lass!  your  eyes  are  mournful.  What's  amiss?" 

"  Nothing,  Uncle !  I'd  better  be  married.  They  all  want 
me  to  be." 

"  I  just  want  ye  to  be  happy — and  it's  many  a  weary 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  235 

month  since  ye  have  been  happy.  Thomas  is  a  good  lad. 
I'm  thinkin'  you'll  like  the  home  he'll  make  for  you." 

Patricia  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  want  to  think  of 
that  yet." 

The  old  man  regarded  her  keenly.  A  strong  jealousy 
for  her  well-being  surged  up  in  him.  The  thought  had 
often  crossed  his  mind  that  she  was  still  grieving  for  a 
man  now  married  to  another ;  and  her  acceptance  of  Thomas 
only  confirmed  this  suspicion,  since  it  was  mournful,  nega- 
tive, half-hearted.  He  felt  troubled,  uneasy  at  the  turn 
events  had  taken.  Why  had  she  admitted  Thomas  to  this 
new  intimacy,  when  the  pronouncement  of  his  name  brought 
only  the  shadow  of  an  incurable  lassitude  to  her  face  ? 

"  Best  not  get  married  until  you  are  sure." 

"  I  am  sure  now." 

"  Of  bein'  miserable,"  he  challenged. 

She  flushed.    "  There  are  very  few  happy  marriages." 

"  And  you  plan  to  further  rejuce  the  minority." 

"  I'll  not  make  Thomas  miserable." 

"  You  can't  give  him  joy,  offerin'  him  husks." 

To  his  surprise  she  suddenly  bent  her  head  to  his  knee 
and  wept.  He  stroked  her  hair  and  murmured  soothing 
words  over  her.  After  awhile,  her  composure  regained,  she 
rose  to  go.  His  misty  gaze  was  fixed  wistfully  upon  her, 
as  she  made  her  preparations  for  departure. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  no  more  faery  tales,  Pat,  dear,  for  ye'll  be  a 
woman  soon  with  children  to  fill  your  heart." 

Again  a  shivering  seized  her.  She  clung  close  to  him 
at  parting,  wondering  what  tales  he  might  have  told  her,  had 
she  confessed  to  him  the  romance  which  had  drained  her 
life  of  joy. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

PATRICIA  was  right  in  believing  that  the  news  of  her 
engagement  would  be  most  welcome  to  her  family.  In  this 
affair  they  could  all  co-operate,  unchilled  by  a  sense  of 
social  difference  too  wide  to  be  bridged  by  good  intentions. 
A  match  with  a  man  of  her  own  faith  and  of  her  own 
station  in  life  was  practical,  intelligible,  and,  best  of  all, 
made  no  demands  on  their  affectionate  ambition.  James 
McCoy  would  not  have  to  surrender  his  daughter  to  the 
will  of  remote  aristocrats.  She  would  remain  a  part  of 
the  warm  world  of  the  proletariat,  yet  with  ample  means  to 
exhibit  power,  did  she  so  choose.  Her  mother,  less  exultant, 
was  still  quietly  gratified,  since  she  could  never  entirely 
sympathize  with  Patricia's  interminable  philanthropies. 
Better  to  have  her  married  and  with  children  of  her  own 
on  her  knees.  Father  Carew  exhorted  Thomas  to  urge  a 
speedy  union. 

This  was  more  easily  advised  than  accomplished. 
Thomas,  scarcely  able  to  believe  the  miracle  of  his  accept- 
ance, was  on  the  whole  in  the  humble  and  patient  mood  of 
one  to  whom  the  promise  of  a  supreme  favor  has  been  ex- 
tended. Since  marriage  had  been  conceded,  and  since 
Patricia's  word  was  almost  as  infallible  as  the  Pope's,  he 
could  afford  to  wait  her  pleasure. 

He  saw  that  she  shrank  from  discussion  of  the  subject, 
though  she  allowed  him  the  privileges  of  an  accepted  lover, 
submitting  to  his  caresses  mutely,  and  without  response 
on  her  part.  When  he  brought  the  plans  of  their  house 
to  her,  she  looked  over  them  and  dutifully  made  some 
practical  suggestions,  but  when  he  went  away  that  evening 
it  was  borne  in  upon  him  that  she  had  never  even  asked 
him  what  site  he  had  secured  for  its  erection,  or  when  the 
building  would  begin?  For  a  while  he  was  chilled  and 

236 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  237 

puzzled,  then  the  realization  that  she  was  indeed  his,  and 
would  inhabit  this  house  with  him,  overbore  all  other 
thoughts. 

Patricia  carried  on  her  work  among  the  poor  listlessly, 
Only  Jim  and  Lily  had  the  power  to  awaken  her  old 
enthusiasm,  for  they  had  held  their  ground  in  the  midst  of 
poverty,  discouragement  and  frequent  illnesses.  Patricia 
had  long  ago  realized  that  they  should  be  taken  out  of  the 
city  whose  conditions  they  had  neither  the  physical  nor 
moral  capital  to  surmount.  They  themselves  talked  often 
of  a  little  truck  farm,  and  Patricia  longed  to  give  their 
vision  embodiment.  One  day  it  occurred  to  her  that  the 
Carmichael  Estate  included  much  waste  land.  She  remem- 
bered particularly  the  acres  on  the  verge  of  the  sea-marshes 
below  St.  Anne's  on  which  the  ancient  deserted  mill  stood 
and  the  deserted  farm-house. 

What  a  spot  of  refuge  for  her  pensioners  if  she  could 
only  obtain  it !  But  the  first  steps  meant  an  interview  with 
Neal,  and  that  she  shrank  from.  Her  visits  to  The  Courier 
had  ceased  since  Divine  had  left  it  to  take  orders,  and 
Neal  had  succeeded  to  him  in  the  managership  of  the 
paper.  Sometimes  she  thought  of  going  to  Divine  him- 
self, who  in  the  last  month  had  been  called  to  the 
rectorship  of  St.  Anne's,  left  vacant  by  the  resignation  of 
Dr.  Griffin,  whose  health  demanded  complete  cessation  from 
his  labors.  But  Divine  in  his  new  character  of  priest  seemed 
like  a  stranger  to  her. 

With  her  work  and  her  plans  for  others,  she  was  able 
to  hold  at  bay  the  full  consciousness  of  all  that  was  in- 
volved in  her  engagement  to  Thomas  Murphy;  yet  there 
were  days  when,  sharp  and  distinct,  the  future  loomed  be- 
fore her,  as  when  he  had  brought  for  her  approval  the  plans 
of  the  much  too  large  house  he  was  building  for  her.  She 
had  not  even  dared  to  ask  in  what  part  of  the  town  it  was 
to  be  erected,  lest  her  question  should  precipitate  counter- 
inquiries  as  to  her  own  plans.  But  bending  over  the  blue 
sheets,  she  seemed  to  see  written  above  the  diagrams  the 
diabolic  assurance  that  this  edifice,  though  roomy,  was  a 


238  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

prison  in  which  her  life  would  slowly  starve.  The  cry,  "  I 
can't  do  it!  I  can't  wrong  you  or  myself,"  rose  to  her 
lips,  but  she  forced  it  back  and  said  instead  that  the  archi- 
tect had  been  generous  with  bathrooms.  Thomas's  very 
patience  and  reticence  affrighted  her,  showing  her  how 
sure  he  was  of  her,  so  sure  that  he  could  await  his  hour  of 
complete  victory,  hers  to  grant,  but  the  beginning  of  his 
life-long  rule.  No  escape!  For  he  would  imprison  her 
forever  in  his  love,  the  great  Church  back  of  him  proclaim- 
ing it  a  sacrament. 

In  her  heart  she  knew  that  it  could  never  be  that  though 
Father  Carew  said  a  hundred  nuptial  Masses  over  her.  She 
was  committing  her  spirit  to  an  everlasting  lie,  yet  a  creep- 
ing paralysis  of  her  will  made  resistance  impossible.  She 
drifted  sorrowfully  in  the  direction  of  her  apparent  destiny. 

One  night  upon  return  from  the  city  her  mother  met 
her  at  the  door. 

"  You  are  in  the  nick  of  time,  Pat !  A  telephone  call 
has  just  come  for  you.  They  want  you  on  the  hill  at  young 
Carlton's.  They're  sending  a  machine  for  you." 

"  The  Godwin  Carlton's  ?  " 

"  Yes — young  Godwin  has  shot  himself." 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  I  can  make  a  guess  why,"  Mrs.  McCoy  said  with  some 
bitterness.  "  He's  been  succeeded  at  Carmichael  House  by 
young  Kenneth." 

Patricia  hurried  past  her  and  began  collecting  some 
necessary  articles.  She  must  save  young  Carlton,  save 
Neal  from  the  suffering  that  the  scandal  of  the  boy's  death 
would  cause  him.  She  quivered  with  returning  life,  with 
the  eagerness  of  one  bent  on  victory.  As  she  rapidly 
changed  her  clothes  she  heard  the  chug  of  the  motor  at  the 
gate.  Soon  she  was  ready  and  hurried  out,  bag  in  hand. 
The  chauffeur  was  talking  to  a  group  of  his  friends — and 
Patricia  caught  the  words,  "  Poor  young  fool !  She  could 
wind  him  around  her  finger." 

The  car  sped  through  the  town  up  the  hills  to  one  of 
the  large  estates  near  the  highest  summit.  The  gates  were 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  239 

opened  and  the  lodge-keeper  was  in  the  road  looking  out 
for  them.  They  were  soon  under  the  porte-cochere,  and 
doors  were  opening  as  by  invisible  hands  to  Patricia,  while 
she  heard  a  voice  say, '  Thank  God,  one  nurse  has  arrived !  " 
Then  she  was  conducted  up  a  broad  staircase,  past  a  door- 
way from  which  issued  the  half-stifled  sounds  of  weeping, 
to  another  admitting  her  to  a  big  room,  in  the  centre  of 
which,  on  an  improvised  cot,  lay  a  form  extravagantly 
long,  it  seemed,  for  its  narrow  width  and  meager  contours. 

This  boy,  who  had  been  an  athlete,  looked  now  like  some 
anchorite  wasted  through  consuming  zeal,  his  outlines  dis- 
turbed grotesquely  by  certain  bandages  over  the  chest, 
bandages  which  Dr.  Murphy  was  putting  into  final  position 
by  dexterous  touches.  He  recognized  Patricia  and  gave 
her  a  summary  direction,  which  she  obeyed  with  the  me- 
chanical skill  and  automatic  precision  born  of  her  years 
of  experience.  She  scarcely  glanced  at  her  patient,  since 
a  more  prominent,  more  appealing  figure  supplanted  him — 
that  of  Godwin  Carlton,  the  elder,  who  sat  near  the  cot 
with  a  face  of  ashen  despair.  Patricia  had  known  him  as  a 
correct  conventional  figure  of  a  rather  engaging  worldli- 
ness  and  insouciance.  What  disguises  he  had  worn  were 
now  stripped  away.  Though  he  made  no  sound,  Patricia 
had  the  sensation  of  hearing  him  moan.  His  eyes  followed 
every  movement  of  the  physician. 

As  Patricia  bent  over  the  patient  to  perform  the  office 
requested  of  her,  young  Carlton  stirred,  if.  a  shudder  of 
his  frame  could  be  called  movement,  and  opened  eyes  whose 
penetrative,  despairing  vision  seemed  entirely  focused  on 
some  invisible  scene  of  torture  beyond  the  apprehension  of 
his  attendants. 

His  blue  lips  formed  two  words — "  Ada !     Cruel !  " 

The  boy's  father  rose  tremblingly. 

"  Godwin,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  was  that  woman " 

But  Dr.  Murphy  silenced  him  with  an  imperative  gesture. 
"  Go  to  your  wife,  Mr.  Carlton !  She  needs  you.  I  can't 
have  her  in  here,  you  know.  All  that  crying's  bad  for  the 
patient.  Go  to  her." 


240  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

When  he  was  gone  Dr.  Murphy  glanced  at  Patricia.  "  No 
hope,  but  work  like  hell,  just  the  same !  " 

The  hours  which  followed  were  terrible.  She  knew  that 
the  young  man  was  slipping  from  them — the  bullet  had 
reached  a  vital  spot — but  her  thought  of  Neal,  and  of  what 
he  would  suffer  if  Carlton  died,  rilled  her  with  zeal  to 
delay  the  coming  of  the  last  struggle.  As  she  looked  at 
the  pinched  young  face,  set  now  in  grim  lines,  she  knew  that 
no  will  was  there  to  aid  her  efforts;  rather  some  sinister 
triumph  of  escape  from  a  coil  too  involved.  Dr.  Murphy 
desisted  at  last. 

"  Poor  boy !  "  he  muttered.  "  But  we  won't  call  his  father 
back.  Better  to  have  the  going  peaceful." 

The  two  specialists  who  were  ushered  in  shortly  after, 
breathless  from  their  hurried  journey,  confirmed  the  verdict. 
An  hour  later  Patricia  emerged  from  the  room,  her  bag 
again  in  her  hand,  a  black  cloak  over  her  white  uniform. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

PATRICIA  hurried  down  through  the  brightly  lighted 
house,  conscious  from  the  startled  looks  of  the  servants 
she  passed  that  her  figure,  garbed  for  departure,  was  a 
silent  announcement  of  the  end. 

"  Shall  I  call  the  car,  Miss  ? "  the  footman  at  the  door 
asked  her. 

"No,  I'll  walk,"  she  answered. 

She  felt  she  must  be  alone  for  a  while  in  the  free  air, 
must  have  time  to  collect  her  thoughts,  recover  her  poise, 
before  she  faced  her  family  and  their  questions.  The 
thought  that  filled  her  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  minor  con- 
siderations was  the  blow  this  death  would  be  to  Neal, 
since  everyone  seemed  united  in  laying  it  at  Mrs.  Car- 
michael's  door.  What  had  that  cold,  beautiful  woman  done 
to  the  boy,  who  lay  dead  in  his  father's  house  for  love  of 
her?  What  imprisoning  spell  had  she  cast  upon  him  that 
only  death,  self-inflicted,  could  release?  Had  he  been 
very  weak,  or  was  Ada  very  strong  ?  Would  she  care  when 
she  saw  the  fruits  of  her  magic — of  her  dark  mastery  of 
another's  soul? 

Once  in  the  long  driveway,  Patricia  breathed  more  freely. 
The  night  was  brilliant  with  stars,  which  seemed  to  hang 
just  beyond  the  gaunt  bare  branches  of  the  trees.  Another 
constellation  of  lights  was  at  her  feet,  indicating  the  string 
of  towns  along  the  water-front.  On  the  summit  of  another 
hill  Carmichael  House  appeared,  as  brilliantly  illuminated 
as  the  dwelling  she  had  just  left. 

At  the  lodge  the  keeper  came  out,  uttering  a  little  cry  as 
he  recognized  her. 

"  Why  are  you  going?  "  he  asked  fearfully. 

"  I  am  not  needed." 

"Dead!" 

241 


242  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  Yes." 

He  went  in  quickly  to  tell  his  wife.  Patricia  hurried 
into  the  road  which  belted  the  high  ridge  with  many  a 
sinuous  curve.  The  hour  was  not  late,  but  the  road,  over- 
arched by  many  trees,  seemed  deserted.  Not  until  she 
had  passed  from  the  glare  of  an  arc-light  into  shadow  did 
she  become  conscious  of  a  man's  figure  stationed  beneath  a 
tree,  his  face  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  Carlton  house. 
Something  poignantly  familiar  in  his  outline  set  her  heart 
beating  violently.  Yet  she  was  not  sure  it  was  Neal  until 
she  was  close  to  him.  At  the  same  moment  he  recognized 
her. 

"  Patricia — is  it  you  ?  " 

She  knew  that  he  understood.  They  faced  each  other,  no 
sound  disturbing  the  deep  silence  about  them.  Patricia 
noticed  that  he  had  on  no  overcoat,  but  he  appeared  oblivious 
of  the  sharp  air. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  he  asked. 

He  took  her  bag  from  her  hand,  then  turned,  not  in  the 
direction  that  led  to  the  towns,  but  the  opposite  one,  diverg- 
ing into  the  country. 

"  I've  got  to  walk,"  he  said,  seeming  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  she  would  not  leave  him. 

They  trudged  on  together  through  the  semi-twilight  of 
the  road,  their  footsteps  echoed  back  to  them  from  garden 
walls  and  bare  steep  banks.  Neal's  head  was  bowed,  his 
shoulders  drooped  forward. 

"  It's  awful,"  he  said  at  last.    "  He  wasn't  twenty- four." 

Something  like  a  groan  escaped  him.  Suddenly  he 
stopped  in  the  road. 

"  Patricia,  you  know  what  will  be  said ! " 

A  passion  of  pity  welled  up  in  her,  the  first  emotion 
she  had  felt  for  months.  Her  eyes  glistened.  She  put  out 
her  hand  and  took  his,  with  a  tender,  protective  gesture. 
For  a  moment  he  turned  his  face  sharply  away. 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,  I  can't  shield  her  from  tongues." 

She  felt  that  the  woman  he  spoke  of  had  become  to 
him  merely  an  undeveloped  person  whom  he  must  protect, 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  243 

that  the  old  glamour  had  departed,  leaving  him  stranded  in  a 
desert  of  dreary  facts.  He  was  no  more  alive  than  she, 
Patricia,  was,  except  as  he  was  capable  of  suffering.  The 
record  of  the  past  two  years  of  disillusionment  was  written 
in  his  gaunt  features,  in  his  eyes,  with  their  look  of  dumb 
patience,  in  his  curiously  stilled  and  uncertain  voice,  in  his 
passive,  indifferent  manner.  Patricia  wanted  to  say,  "  No, 
they  must  lay  the  blame  where  it  belongs  " ;  but  she  could 
not  wound  him  more. 

"  It  will  soon  be  forgotten,"  she  murmured. 

He  sighed,  making  no  answer.  Again  they  marched  on 
in  silence.  Grim  despair  walked  with  him,  dawning  hope 
with  her,  hope  that  somehow,  someway,  she  might  com- 
fort him.  Passion  was  dead  in  her,  she  thought;  but  if 
she  could  save  him  from  utter  defeat,  life  might  not  be 
wholly  a  coast  of  rocks  without  a  lighthouse. 

He  became  conscious  that  they  were  walking  in  the  wrong 
direction,  and  wheeled  about. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

She  was  sorry  that  he  had  made  the  discovery. 

"  I  wanted  to  walk,  too,"  she  answered. 

"  But  you  look  tired.  You've  just  had  a  terrible  strain. 
How  are  you,  Patricia?" 

"  I  am  well."  She  paused,  then  made  herself  add,  "  I 
am  engaged  to  be  married." 

He  looked  for  a  moment  thoroughly  incredulous,  since 
nothing  in  her  face  confirmed  her  statement,  no  dawn  from 
a  new  life,  no  joy,  no  hope. 

"To  whom?" 

"Thomas  Murphy." 

"  How  long — have  you  been  engaged  ?  " 

"  It  has  only — just  happened." 

He  did  not  congratulate  her.  The  news  was  restoring 
to  him  the  Patricia  of  their  brief  engagement,  a  woman  of 
unusual  spiritual  charm,  whose  beauty  was  as  far  removed 
from  the  obvious  as  that  of  the  women  who  haunt  Leo- 
nardo's shadowy  drawings.  He  could  not,  by  any  stretch  of 
the  imagination,  fancy  her  married  to  the  prosperous  young 


244  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Irishman  whom  he  had  once  thrown  in  a  wrestling  match. 
Why  was  she  doing  this ?  Was  she  tired  of  her  work?  Had 
she  found,  at  last,  that  an  unmarried  woman  has  con- 
tinually to  justify  even  a  useful  existence  to  the  world, 
which  sees  its  ideal  more  nearly  approached  by  the  veriest 
rag  of  a  wife  than  by  all  the  vague  aspirations  of  a  virgin? 

And  why  did  she  not  appear  happy?  Her  matter-of-fact 
pronouncement  of  the  important  change  in  her  life  aroused 
an  old  ugly  question  in  his  mind — had  she  spoken  truth  to 
him  when,  breaking  her  engagement,  she  had  said  she  did 
not  love  him  ? 

A  rush  of  conflicting  emotions  swept  over  him  for  an 
instant — a  longing  to  know  the  truth  concerning  this 
woman,  a  longing  to  save  her  from  a  blunder  similar  to 
his  own. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  be  married  ?  " 

She  looked  away  from  him  into  the  depths  of  the  valley 
below,  "  I  don't  know." 

"Patricia!" 

He  was  with  her  at  last,  fully  with  her,  more  near  to 
her,  she  was  thrillingly  conscious,  than  he  had  ever  been 
before. 

"  Patricia,"  he  repeated,  "  are  you  quite  sure?  I've  made 
shipwreck  of  my  own  life.  I  don't  want  you  to  do  the 
same." 

She  was  silent. 

"  Why  are  you  doing  this  ?  "  he  insisted. 

She  turned  sharply  upon  him. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  question  me  ?  You  forfeited 
that  right  long  ago." 

"  You  broke  our  engagement,  not  I !  " 

Her  mournful  eyes  met  his,  and  he  read  confession  in 
them,  the  truth  that  he  had  not  been  brave  enough  to  face. 

"Patricia!  if  I  had  known." 

"  Did  you  want  to  know  ?  It  would  have  made  no 
difference." 

"  No,  I  suppose  it  wouldn't." 

He   was  beyond  blinding  himself  now.     For  the   first 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  245 

time  in  her  intercourse  with  him,  Patricia  knew  the  relief 
of  speaking  to  him  without  barriers,  without  false  assump- 
tions. He  was  no  longer  the  hero  of  her  youthful  dreams. 
The  man  she  now  recognized  called  to  her  from  a  deeper 
chamber  than  the  aerial  idealism  of  immaturity — from  a 
place  as  deep  as  life  itself. 

"  You  cared  then  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Hush,  don't  speak  of  it." 

In  his  mind  a  question  followed  hard  upon  that  other — 
"  Do  you  care  now  ?  "  He  smothered  it  passionately,  and 
commanded  himself  to  be  still.  No  good  could  come  of 
knowledge. 

They  were  again  in  front  of  the  Carlton  house.  The  air 
of  festivity  lent  by  its  many  lights  clashed  with  their  knowl- 
edge of  its  tragedy.  Soon  the  road  would  descend  the  hill; 
soon  they  must  part. 

The  thought  of  parting  from  him  hurt  Patricia  beyond 
all  belief.  She  wished  then  that  they  might  walk  on  to- 
gether, out  of  the  dull,  meaningless  round  of  their  lives,  into 
freshness  and  light  and  the  old  up-bubbling  hope  of  youthful 
feeling.  To  be  with  him,  even  for  this  little  while,  was  to 
breathe  again  and  feel  the  blessing  of  long  perspective,  the 
refreshment  of  great  winds.  Neal  was  sharing,  though  in 
less  degree,  her  sense  of  emancipation,  realizing  as  they 
went  on  together  that  for  weeks  and  months  he  had  scarcely 
uttered  one  spontaneous  word,  nor  had  done  anything  with- 
out first  considering  its  effect  upon  Ada.  To  be  with 
Patricia  was  to  move  cramped  limbs  and  to  draw  long, 
free  breaths. 

From  time  to  time  he  glanced  at  her  with  a  kind  of  im- 
personal admiration.  What  her  beauty  had  lacked  was 
now  supplied  by  some  undefinable  element  of  magnetism  in 
her  glance.  The  comfort  of  her  presence  was  like  the  actual 
fragrance  of  flowers.  He  dreaded  the  moment  of  leaving 
her. 

As  if  in  response  to  his  feeling,  she  asked  him  if  he  would 
accompany  her  as  far  as  her  home.  She  wanted  to  talk  a 
matter  over  with  him  that  had  long  been  in  her  mind.  Did 


246  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

he  remember  her  proteges,  Jim  and  Lil?  She  wanted  to 
get  them  into  the  country.  Would  he  let  them  have  the 
deserted  farm-house  near  the  old  mill  for  a  nominal  sum? 

"  Does  Jim  want  to  become  a  farmer  ?  "  Neal  asked. 

"  He  chafes  continually  in  the  city  and  his  trade  requires 
better  health  than  he  can  bring  to  it.  He  thinks  the  soil 
is  the  place  for  him,  and  I  agree  with  him.  He  wants  to 
start  a  truck  farm.  Could  you  help  him  ?  " 

"  I  can  and  will ;  but  I've  no  idea  in  what  shape  that 
house  is."  He  paused  and  hesitated  a  moment.  "  Couldn't 
— we  go  down  and  look  it  over  some  day  soon  ?  " 

A  wave  of  happiness  surged  through  Patricia.  She 
would  see  him  again! 

"  I  can  go  to-morrow — if  you  are  free,"  she  answered. 

Some  quiver  in  her  voice  drew  his  eyes  to  hers.  In  the 
still,  deep  look  exchanged  between  them  a  flame  leaped  up, 
and  by  its  light  he  saw  her  as  long  before  she  had  prayed 
he  might  see  her. 

"  I  can  go,"  he  said.    "  Where  shall  I  meet  you  ?  " 

"  At  St.  Anne's.  We  can  then  go  on  and  look  the 
house  over.  I  shall  bring  my  sister  Rose  with  me.  She 
loves  old  houses." 

"  Rose  ?  She  was  one  of  the  littlest  ones,  wasn't  she, 
Patricia?" 

"  Quite  the  baby  when  you  were  playing  baseball,  but  a 
big  girl  now." 

Both  saw  the  same  perspective — the  opportunity  to  meet 
again,  to  form  a  spiritual  bond  as  between  two  exiles.  When 
he  left  her  he  took  both  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Good-night,  Patricia.    You've  helped  me !  " 

"  It's  what  I  long  to  do — always." 

This  was  her  love-confession,  at  least  that  part  of  it 
that  was  not  written  in  her  eyes,  in  the  faint  quiver  of  her 
lips.  When  he  had  left  her  she  hurried  up  the  walk  to 
find  Thomas  on  the  porch.  Had  he  seen  Neal  ?  Well,  what 
if  he  had!  She  was  willing  to  tell  him  her  plans. 

His  first  question  answered  her.  "  Were  you  nursing 
up  at  the  Carmichaels',  not  the  Carltons'  ?  " 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  247 

She  shrank  back  with  a  pain  that  seemed  actually  phys- 
ical. Then  a  flood  of  anger  swept  her  for  a  moment  into 
unreasoning  revolt. 

"  I  was  with  poor  young  Carlton  when  he  died,"  she 
replied.  "  Mr.  Carmichael  was  waiting  outside  the  gates  for 
some  news  of  him,  and  I  came  out — my  work  over.  He 
walked  home  with  me.  He  had  need  of  a  friend.  I  shall 
see  him  to-morrow.  He's  going  to  let  me  have  the  old 
farm  by  the  mill  for  Jim  and  Lily." 

She  looked  straight  at  Thomas  as  she  spoke,  her  voice 
quivering  a  little  with  indignation.  Frightened  by  the 
effect  his  words  had  on  her,  he  began  a  lame  apology,  but 
she  cut  him  short. 

"  If  you  don't  trust  me,"  she  said,  "  give  me  up." 

Give  her  up!  Not  if  the  heavens  fell!  She  was  alto- 
gether too  desirable  as  she  stood  there,  seductive  even  in 
her  indignation.  Trust  her?  He  would  trust  her  if  Car- 
michael and  she  were  cast  on  a  desert  island.  But  he  could 
be  as  jealous  of  her  as  he  pleased.  That  was  h\s  right  as 
her  accepted  lover. 

"  Rose  will  go  with  me  to-morrow,"  Patricia  went  on. 
"You  can  come  too,  if  you  want  to." 

Thomas  reflected  upon  this.  He  had  no  wish  to  invite 
contrast  by  putting  himself  into  juxtaposition  with  Neal, 
yet  he  rather  longed  to  watch  him  and  Patricia  together,  to 
set  certain  doubts  of  his  own  at  rest. 

"  I'll  come !    Where  and  when  ?  " 

"  At  St.  Anne's,  at  three  o'clock." 

"  That  cold,  lonesome  church !  " 

"  It's  beautiful." 

"  Too  many  tombstones  for  my  taste — and  each  one  over 
a  heretic,"  Thomas  added  piously. 

"  Saved,  nevertheless." 

"  Not  all  of  'em.    One  of  'em  owes  me  a  bill  yet." 

Patricia  smiled.  Thomas  could  always  win  her  by  the 
betrayal  of  the  boy  he  was  beneath  his  bluster.  She  did 
not  fancy  his  going  to  the  farm;  but  he  was  within  his 


248  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

rights,  and  after  all  it  was  best.  Two  friends  should  not 
care  how  many  people  witnessed  their  conferences. 

Meanwhile  Neal  was  on  his  way  to  the  rectory.  Young 
Carlton's  death  had  crystallized  in  his  mind  a  resolution 
which  had  been  in  formation  there  for  many  months.  He 
must  abandon  The  Courier;  the  gulf  between  his  theories 
and  the  practices  at  Carmichael  House,  to  which  his  mar- 
riage with  Ada  had  compelled  his  sanction,  had  become  too 
wide  to  be  bridged  even  by  an  idealist. 

Then,  too,  Ada's  preponderance  of  fortune,  which  had 
both  saved  and  enslaved  his  family,  had  become  like  a  wall, 
barring  his  way  to  moral  liberty.  The  prisoners  of  her 
bounty,  over-fed  and  over-pampered,  with  the  revolt  in  their 
hearts  which  springs  up  instead  of  gratitude  as  the  fruit 
of  dependence,  had  produced  a  constant  friction  at  Car- 
michael House  which  centred  in  Mrs.  Guthrie. 

Maria  had  made  Neal  her  unwilling  confidant,  allowing 
no  slight  of  Ada's  to  pass  unnoticed.  These  tearful  crimina- 
tions always  ended  with  the  same  plaint,  "  If  I  only  had 
my  own  house !  " 

To  give  her  her  own  house,  to  provide  her  an  income 
sufficient  for  her  to  live  comfortably  and  with  some  dignity, 
had  been  Neal's  desire  for  a  long  time;  but  he  had  not 
seen  his  way  clear  to  accomplish  his  purpose.  He  would 
wait  no  longer.  His  plan  was  to  ask  Peter  to  take  him 
into  the  Street  on  borrowed  capital,  and  then  to  enter  the 
enterprise  of  stock  brokerage.  Even  in  prospect,  this  change 
of  occupation  gave  him  a  sense  of  infinite  relief.  As  a 
juggler  of  stocks  he  would  square  at  last  with  Ada  and 
her  conception  of  existence.  No  longer  would  he  have  to 
endure  the  pangs  of  self -mockery  when  he  wrote  of  the 
moral  adjustments  needed  between  labor  and  leisure,  wealth 
and  poverty.  He  would  be  in  the  proper  frame  at  last,  and 
a  part  of  the  perspective  his  marriage  had  created. 

He  found  Divine  in  his  study,  a  study  new  perhaps  in 
the  annals  of  the  rectory,  for  Divine's  library  included  a 
large  proportion  of  books  written  by  scientists  and  enough 
of  the  classics  to  satisfy  even  Philip.  Neal  was  scarcely 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  249 

used  to  Divine  in  his  sacerdotal  character;  and  as  he  wore 
the  same  old  gray  suit  and  was  found  reading  Novalis,  some 
effort  of  imagination  was  needed  to  picture  him  as  the  new 
rector  of  St.  Anne's.  What  justified  the  new  rector  most 
was  the  spiritual  look  of  his  eyes,  which  held  both  insight 
and  compassion.  That  Neal  would  come  to  him  sooner 
or  later  he  had  been  sure,  but  he  knew  that  on  this  occasion 
Carmichael  had  not  sought  him  as  a  priest. 

After  their  greetings  and  some  rather  restrained  con- 
versation, for  Neal  scarcely  knew  how  to  open  his  subject, 
silence  fell  between  them.  It  was  broken  at  last  by  Car- 
michael. 

"  Have  you  heard  yet  of  young  Carlton's  suicide  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  I  have  just  been  telephoned.  I  am  going  there  in  a 
few  minutes." 

"  I  don't  envy  you.  What  can  you  say  to  that  poor 
mother  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  but  she  will  pray  with  me  by  his  side.  I  ask 
you  to  pray,  too,  Carmichael.  Keep  awake  if  you  can  to- 
night and  pray — implore  heaven  for  him,  for  us  all." 

Neal  leaned  over  and  took  Divine's  arm  roughly.  "  Could 
I  ask  my  wife  to  pray  for  him  ?  " 

A  spasm  of  pain  set  him  quivering  as  he  spoke.  He 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  Listen !  "  Divine  said.  "  Carlton  loved  her.  That  will 
count  for  his  peace,  not  hers;  but  don't  judge  her  too  soon. 
Ada  has  never  been  haunted  as  you  are  by  invisible  things. 
She  is  strictly  within  her  logic.  She  wants  something,  but 
she  refuses  to  look  beyond  herself  for  it.  Be  pitiful !  " 

"  She  has  no  room  for  my  pity." 

"If  she  did  she  would  not  need  it.  You  may  never 
weep  together,  but  God  grant  both  of  you  may  at  least 
weep  apart.  Anything's  better  than  the  stone  over  the 
grave.  Ada's  hard,  but  she'll  have  to  face  herself  some  day, 
or  bear  the  weight  of  the  stone." 

"  I  didn't  come  to  talk  of  her !  It's  like  talking  of  a 
ghost  story.  No  one  knows.  I  came  to  tell  you  I'm  leaving 


250  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

The  Courier.  I've  got  to  have  money,  Divine,  and  I've  got 
to  leave  off  grimacing  at  myself  when  I  write  of  justice." 

"  I  think  you  are  right." 

This  comment  surprised  and  relieved  him.  He  had  ex- 
pected Divine  in  the  interests  of  The  Courier  to  oppose  the 
project.  He  took  up  his  hat. 

"  Well,  I  must  go — and  let  you  go  to  those  poor  people." 

"  Wait,  I'll  run  the  car  out  and  drop  you  anywhere 
you  like.  Are  you  going  home  ?  " 

"  No— to  the  Club." 

At  the  Club  Neal  found  a  grave-faced  Peter.  Since  his 
marriage  Peter  seemed  to  have  turned  a  corner  and  struck 
into  a  new  road.  Ambition  was  still  in  him,  but  tempered 
by  other  considerations.  He  was  simpler  in  his  manner, 
more  neighborly,  more  friendly  and  sympathetic.  The  girl 
he  had  married  had  perhaps  wrought  this  change,  or  his 
own  observation  of  life. 

Putting  an  arm  in  Neal's,  he  took  him  considerately  to 
a  remote  little  card-room.  Neal  forced  himself  to  nod  as 
nonchalantly  as  he  could  to  a  group  of  men  they  passed, 
whose  sudden,  noticeable  silence  told  him  what  their  topic 
of  conversation  must  be.  Of  course  the  Club  was  buzzing 
with  it! 

"Anything  to  drink?"   Peter  asked. 

"  Nothing." 

Peter  lit  a  cigarette. 

"  Don't  take  it  too  much  to  heart,  Neal.  That  poor 
boy  never  did  have  balance.  It's  his  mother  I  pity  most. 
She  had  an  awful  time  dragging  him  through  childhood; 
he  was  a  sickly  little  chap." 

"  Divine's  with  her." 

"  That's  good !  " 

Neal  then  disclosed  his  plans.  Peter  heard  him  in  silence, 
skeptical  as  to  the  success  of  the  new  enterprise,  yet 
keenly  aware  of  what  was  driving  Neal  to  it.  Peter's  early 
lack  of  illusion  concerning  his  cousin  Ada  had  been  an 
excellent  preparation  for  his  understanding  of  her  married 
life  in  Carmichael  House.  Knowing  the  reality  of  Neal's 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  251 

passion  for  her,  he  had  never  condemned  him;  but  he  felt 
a  kind  of  contempt  for  the  others,  who,  disliking  her,  had 
been  ready  to  accept  her  bounty. 

"  So  Mrs.  Guthrie  wants  to  get  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  want  to  help  her." 

"  Pity  to  throw  up  your  career.  You're  a  writer,  not  a 
financier." 

"  I  can  be  a  consistent  broker." 

"  Well,  I'm  willing  to  take  you  under  the  wing  of  my 
firm,  if  you  think  you  can  raise  the  capital." 

"  I  think  I  can.     It's  this  way." 

He  proceeded  to  elucidate  his  plans.  They  discussed  the 
subject  for  over  two  hours,  and  finally  found  themselves  in 
agreement.  It  was  after  midnight  when  he  reached  Car- 
michael  House,  which  was  still  brightly  lighted,  a  fact, 
however,  that  did  not  indicate  the  presence  downstairs 
of  the  household.  It  was  one  of  Ada's  few  weaknesses  that 
she  disliked  the  dark.-  Certain  lights  burned  all  night  on 
the  lower  floors  and  on  the  landings. 

When  he  entered  Neal  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  standing 
quite  alone  near  the  tall  over-mantel  of  the  hearth  in  the 
drawing-room.  She  was  in  a  trained  gown  of  some  filmy 
blue  stuff,  and  in  her  hand  she  held  a  great  fan  of  black 
feathers.  There  were  gardenias  in  her  fair  hair.  Their 
heavy  seductive  odor  filled  the  room.  He  paused  and 
greeted  her. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  With  Peter." 

"How's  Peter?" 

"  Very  well." 

"What  did  you  talk  about?" 

"  Many  things." 

She  sighed,  turning  the  pure  profile  of  her  face  to  him, 
Had  she  heard,  he  wondered. 

"Ada?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  you  know  ?  " 

"Know  what?" 


252  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

A  slight  quiver  went  through  her,  but  she  made  her  face 
a  mask. 

"About— about  Carlton?" 

"  I — know — what  he  tried  to  do." 

"  But  he  did  it !    He  is— dead." 

She  took  a  step  forward,  then  stood  perfectly  still,  star- 
ing at  him,  her  eyes  dark  and  burning,  her  face  as  white 
as  the  flowers  in  her  hair. 

"  Dead,"  she  whispered. 

A  mocking  impulse  seized  him.  "  Ada,  Divine  asked  me 
to  pray  for  Carlton's  soul.  I  ask  you  to  pray  for  it." 

His  words  broke  the  spell  of  terror  that  was  upon  her. 

"  I  believe  in  cause  and  effect,"  she  said  coldly.  "  Pray- 
ers are  folly." 

They  gazed  at  each  other.  He  was  the  first  to  lose 
composure. 

"  Oh,  Ada !     He  was  young." 

"  Don't  look  at  me  like  that.  I  can't  help  it  that  young 
fools  care  for  me.  I  can't  help  it !  Don't  look  at  me  like 
that." 

He  went  on  upstairs.  A  door  opened.  Caecilia  came  out. 
She  and  her  husband  were  spending  a  few  days,  by  Ada's 
urgent  invitation,  at  Carmichael  House,  before  sailing  for 
the  Holy  Land.  Between  Caecilia  and  Ada  there  had  been 
always  a  certain  truce,  compounded  largely  of  Ada's  gen- 
uine respect  for  Mrs.  Griffin.  What  Caecilia  read  now  in 
Neal's  face  confirmed  her  own  fears,  increasing  in  number 
and  strength  through  a  miserable  evening.  Though  Ada 
was  a  good  actress,  she  had  not  been  able  to  hide  alto- 
gether her  agitation  over  the  news  of  Carlton's  ?ct. 

Neal  told  her  briefly  its  sequel. 

"  Where  is  Ada  ?  "  Caecilia  asked. 

"  In  the  drawing-room." 

"  Isn't  she  coming  upstairs  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

He  bade  her  good-night  and  went  on  to  his  own  rooms. 
Caecilia  hesitated  awhile,  then  after  a  word  with  her  husband 
went  downstairs.  Ada  was  seated  by  the  fire,  in  a  still 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  253 

intent  attitude.  Caecilia,  crossing  the  room,  took  a  chair 
opposite  to  her. 

"  I  am  restless,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  I'd  come  down — 
and  read." 

Ada  flashed  a  grateful  look  at  her.  "  Suppose  we  go 
into  the  library,"  she  said. 

They  went  together  to  the  great  room  with  its  store 
of  dead  volumes.  Philip  was  still  in  his  corner,  in  a  little 
halo  of  light  from  his  student-lamp.  He,  too,  had  heard 
of  Carlton,  but  he  looked  without  bitterness  at  Ada.  That 
a  youth  had  plucked  the  asphodel  prematurely  for  her  sake 
was  a  part  of  the  whole  dark  perplexity  of  life. 

The  two  women  seated  themselves  on  the  broad  divan 
before  the  fire,  backed  by  a  table  on  which  stood  electroliers. 
Neither  spoke.  After  awhile  Philip,  becoming  more  keenly 
conscious  of  their  presence,  began  to  read  aloud  one  of  his 
favorite  Latin  authors.  His  voice  but  half-alive  in  ordinary 
conversation  became  resonant,  musical  and  inspiring  when 
interpreting  the  classics.  Caecilia  listened  with  quiet 
pleasure,  and  after  awhile  the  strained  look  faded  from 
Ada's  face. 

A  man  in  evening  clothes  appeared  from  the  shadows, 
who  was  presently  identified  as  Jack.  Slipping  quietly 
into  a  chair,  he  glanced  from  time  to  time  at  Ada,  with 
genuine  concern  in  his  face.  Of  course  she  had  played 
with  fire,  but,  then,  we  were  all  miserable  sinners!  How 
pale  Caecilia  looked.  Poor  dear!  She  took  things  hard. 
Jack  was  glad  she  would  have  some  fun  at  last,  if  only 
in  the  Holy  Land!  He  looked  at  his  watch — one  A.M.! 
These  people  would  never  forget  the  day's  tragedy  under 
that  roll  of  sonorous  Latin.  They  ought  to  be  fed.  Noth- 
ing like  an  empty  stomach  to  keep  conscience  biting. 

Jack  tiptoed  away.  Being  on  excellent  terms  with  the 
butler  and  having  the  wine-cellar,  by  Ada's  request,  more  or 
less  under  his  own  supervision,  he  had  little  difficulty  in 
tracing  an  intelligent  course  through  the  shelves  of  pantry 
and  larder.  Half  an  hour  later  he  appeared  with  an  at- 
tractively arranged  tray.  True  to  his  divination,  they  found 


254  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

themselves  hungry,  with  the  active  hunger  of  people  whose 
emotions  are  stirring.  The  mundane  process  of  eating 
broke  the  spell  that  was  upon  them.  Ada  and  Csecilia 
soon  after  went  upstairs,  and  Philip  was  left  alone  with 
Jack. 

"  Do  you  think  this  will  widen  the  breach — Carlton's 
death?"  Philip  asked  timidly. 

"  Since  it  didn't  create  it,  it  can't  widen  it,"  Jack  said. 
"  Ada  will  forget  this,  and  Kenneth  will  be  the  next — but 
Kenneth  will  never  kill  himself.  He's  too  lazy." 

Philip  closed  his  book.  "  I  believe  I'll  get  married,"  he 
said.  "  This  house  isn't  a  comfortable  place  to  live  in." 

Jack  fixed  round  eyes  on  him.  "  Married !  Are  you 
mad,  Philip?" 

"  No,  but  everybody  else  seems  to  be.  Pour  me  another 
glass  of  sherry." 

Jack  obeyed,  chuckling.  He  had  often  wondered  what 
secret  Philip  would  give  forth  when  the  wine  imposed 
verity,  but  Philip  had  no  intention  of  yielding  his  tongue 
to  the  Amontillado.  He  sipped  it  delicately,  discussing  Neal 
and  Ada,  a  riddle  towards  the  solution  of  which  Jack  could 
only  contribute  his  pity.  Condemnation  was  not  one  of  his 
fine  arts. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  next  day  Neal,  keeping  his  appointment  at  the 
church  at  three  o'clock,  found  that  Patricia  was  accom- 
panied not  only  by  her  sister  but  by  young  Murphy,  in 
whose  ingenuous  countenance  distrust  of  the  situation  was 
written.  The  two  men  shook  hands,  but  their  eyes  meas- 
ured each  other  with  a  far  from  friendly  appraisement. 
Neal  with  his  lean  outlines  and  air  of  reserve  looked  more 
than  ever  the  aristocrat  in  contrast  with  Murphy's  stocki- 
ness  and  self-assurance.  Patricia  felt  a  sinking  of  the 
heart  as  she  saw  the  two  together. 

They  proceeded  at  once  to  the  house,  reaching  it  by 
way  of  the  long  lane  below  the  church,  the  lane  down  which 
Patricia  had  fled  after  breaking  her  engagement  with  Neal. 
The  scenes  of  that  day  returned  to  her  with  poignant 
vividness,  and  with  them  a  recrudescence  of  old  emotions. 
Neal,  walking  silently  beside  her,  read  her  thoughts.  Too 
late  now — that  chance  of  happiness ! 

Passing  through  an  orchard  of  ancient  apple-trees,  they 
came  to  the  long,  low  house,  roof  and  walls  shingled  with 
the  broad,  handmade  shingles  of  an  earlier  day.  Neal, 
drawing  out  a  large,  old-fashioned  key,  opened  the  door 
and  admitted  the  party  to  a  low-ceiled  comfortable  living- 
room,  with  corner  cupboards  and  an  old,  broad  fireplace. 
Murphy  reflected  that  a  house  with  such  timbers  would  be 
difficult  to  "  wreck,"  but  Patricia  was  already  furnishing 
it  and  installing  Jim  and  Lily  within  its  protecting  walls. 
Exploring  it,  they  found  a  larger  number  of  rooms  than 
they  had  anticipated.  Repairs  would  be  necessary,  Neal 
said;  and  Murphy,  mollified  by  Carmichael's  business-like 
manner,  agreed  that  by  April  the  house  could  be  put  into 
shape  for  occupancy. 

When  they  were  all  again  in  the  open  air,  Thomas  and 

255 


256  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Rose  went  on  together.  "  We'll  have  to  talk  over  details, 
Patricia,"  Neal  said,  joining  her.  "  When  can  we  meet 
again?"  * 

In  her  face  was  reflected  the  pleasure  the  thought  gave 
her.  She  wanted  not  anything  of  him  but  just  to  hear 
his  voice,  watch  the  changing  expressions  of  his  face — to 
love  him  from  a  far  distance,  with  no  craving,  only  bene- 
diction. 

"  Come  to  my  home  some  afternoon  next  week,"  she  said. 
"  We  must  make  an  estimate  of  the  entire  cost,  including 
farm  implements.  I  have  some  money  of  my  own  saved 
up  that  I  can  advance  to  Jim  for  his  experiment." 

"  I  can  lend  him  some,  too,  on  easy  terms.  Together 
we'll  put  it  through." 

"  '  Together ! ' '  It  was  sweet  in  her  ears.  Might  they 
not  recontract  a  higher  bond  than  any  the  past  had 
brought  forth ;  one  uniting  their  spirits  in  a  harmony  beyond 
the  ordinary,  free  of  guilt  because  free  of  desire. 

"  We'll  put  it  through,"  she  echoed,  "  and  how  happy 
they  will  be!" 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  falling  easily 
into  the  old  confidential  manner  with  her.  "  I  am  leaving 
The  Courier." 

She  looked  blank.    "  Not  giving  up  your  editorship !  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  into  brokerage — with  Peter." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry !  " 

She  did  not  ask  him  why.  She  knew.  She  drew  a  long 
sigh  of  apprehension.  How  would  he  fare  in  that  new 
life?  What  would  be  the  effect  upon  him  of  the  wire- 
pulling of  the  Street? 

"  Don't  look  that  way,"  he  said.    "  It's  my  only  course." 

She  sighed,  making  no  comment.  At  the  church  they 
separated,  Neal  getting  into  his  car,  the  rest  of  the  party 
declining  his  invitation  to  be  taken  to  their  homes.  Thomas 
having  an  errand  of  his  own  in  the  village  beyond  the 
church,  Patricia  went  on  home  with  her  sister. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

NEAL  delayed  for  some  time  telling  Ada  of  the  approach- 
ing change  in  his  affairs,  for  he  dreaded  the  explanations 
he  should  be  called  upon  to  make.  It  was  one  of  the 
dreary  aspects  of  their  union  that  they  understood  nothing 
without  words;  and  even  when  the  words  were  uttered  the 
speakers  remained  hidden. 

One  evening  Neal  resolved  to  tell  Ada  and  have  it  over 
with.  He  was  informed  on  his  return  from  the  Club  that 
she  had  guests  in  the  drawing-room — the  usual  retinue, 
he  divined,  of  young  men.  Telling  the  servant  to  let  him 
know  when  Mrs.  Carmichael  was  at  liberty,  he  went  to  the 
library  to  read  while  he  waited. 

He  took  down  his  old  friend  Pepys,  but  for  once  that 
delightful  gossip  had  no  power  to  hold  his  attention.  His 
mind  would  wander  to  his  own  bleak  problems.  Why  were 
Ada  and  he  not  happy?  What  was  the  secret  of  the  per- 
petual misunderstandings  between  them?  They  rarely 
quarreled,  but  they  nearly  always  irritated  each  other.  He 
rehearsed,  as  often  before,  their  years  together,  in  the  en- 
deavor to  discover  at  just  what  point  the  discord  started, 
but  it  was  a  fruitless  effort  of  memory ;  for  after  the  golden 
fog  of  the  honeymoon  came  the  leaden  fog  of  their  settled 
married  life — no  clear  vision  from  the  beginning! 

It  was  after  midnight  when  he  was  summoned.  Ada  was 
seated  at  the  piano,  looking  very  handsome  in  her  trailing 
dinner  gown,  the  light  from  the  candles  falling  on  her 
white  shoulders  and  on  her  masses  of  fair  hair.  She  was 
running  over  a  Chopin  melody. 

"  Briggs  said  you  wished  to  see  me,"  she  explained. 

"  I  wanted  to  talk  with  you  about — about — some  plans 
of  my  own. 

as? 


258  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"Plans— oh?" 

Ada  had  a  way  of  saying  "  Oh  "  with  the  rising  inflection 
that  made  Neal  feel  clumsy  and  inexperienced.  The  effect 
of  this  monosyllable  now  was  to  undermine  his  resolution 
to  talk  confidentially  to  his  wife,  enlisting,  if  possible,  her 
sympathy  for  Mrs.  Guthrie's  desire  to  have  her  own  home. 
He  hesitated,  then  brought  out  his  news  bluntly :  "  I  wished 
to  tell  you  that  Peter  has  consented  to  take  me  on  in  his 
office."" 

Ada's  hands  dropped  from  the  keys.  Her  eyes  opened 
wide  with  astonishment. 

"  What  on  earth ?  "  she  began. 

Neal  mentioning  that  he  wanted  to  make  money,  she 
looked  more  mystified  than  ever. 

"  But  you  are  dropping  the  only  thing  in  which  you  can 
ever  distinguish  yourself,"  she  said  sharply,  adding  with  a 
nervous  laugh,  "  What  a  figure  you'll  cut  as  a  stock- 
broker!" 

She  was  genuinely  annoyed,  for  she  was  proud  of  Neal's 
career  on  The  Courier  and  the  notice  his  writings  attracted. 
What  on  earth  did  he  want  money  for !  Hadn't  she  cleared 
up  everything,  filled  the  house  with  decent  furniture  and  the 
larder  with  food?  Money!  He  was  a  star-gazer,  could 
succeed  at  that  business,  having  proved  his  pre-eminence 
among  other  star-gazers.  Had  she  jested  too  much  over 
that  peculiar  talent  of  his? 

"  I  don't  understand  at  all,  Neal,"  she  said  plaintively. 
"  I  really  admired  your  work." 

"  You  took  a  poor  way  of  showing  it,  Ada." 

"  Oh,  you  take  me  too  seriously !  Why  do  you  take 
everything  I  say  as  if  it  were  gospel  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  commented. 

"  I  am  aware  I've  not  lived  up  to  the  high  pitch  you 
wanted.  I'm  human." 

Neal  made  no  reply  to  this. 

Jack  Carmichael,  crossing  the  hall  at  that  moment,  Ada 
hailed  him  with,  "  Come  in — and  hear  the  news !  " 

The  touch  of  excitement  in  her  manner  was  rare  enough 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  259 

to  attract  his  attention.  He  came  in,  wondering  what  the 
happy  pair  were  up  to  now. 

"  You're  going  to  have  a  rival,"  said  Ada. 

Neal  explained.  Jack  admitted  that  his  nephew  might 
need  training  in  that  difficult  gymnasium — the  stock  market. 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  Ada  proclaimed  triumphantly. 
Jack  generally  agreed  with  her  to  avoid  trouble,  but  she 
had  a  certain  influence  over  him  born  of  her  drastic  dealing 
with  his  infirmities.  He  feared  her  now  and  wished  to 
keep  the  peace. 

"  Why  don't  you  stick  to  the  pen,  Neal,  now  that  you've 
proved  to  The  Courier  how  much  they  need  you  ?  "  he  com- 
mented. 

"  Well,  for  one  reason — I  can't  practice  what  I  preach." 

Ada  turned  impatiently  to  the  piano.  "  I  thought  there 
was  some  nonsense  of  that  sort  back  of  it  all,"  she  said. 

Having  rented  a  house  for  Mrs.  Guthrie,  Neal  planned 
to  have  it  ready  for  her  before  the  annual  visit  to  town, 
which  took  place  about  the  middle  of  January.  Ada's  city 
dwelling,  though  roomy,  being  in  an  old  quarter,  was 
even  less  adapted  to  dependent  Carmichaels  than  the  home 
on  the  Island. 

Maria's  delight  over  the  new  house  told  Neal  much. 
Ada  ignored  the  subject;  nor  did  she  speak  again  of  the 
change  in  her  husband's  affairs,  but  she  was  bitterly 
chagrined.  Contempt  for  Neal's  idealism  had  been  curiously 
blended  in  her  mind  with  admiration  of  his  gifts,  which,  in 
Ada's  opinion,  reflected  glory  upon  herself.  She  had  en- 
joyed the  references  at  dinner  parties  to  some  editorial  of 
Neal's,  or  some  magazine  article  of  his  more  than  usually 
significant. 

His  reasons  for  this  departure  seemed  inexplicable  to  her. 
Since  he  had  accepted  so  much,  why  should  he  hesitate  to 
take  more?  She  would  have  provided  Maria  with  a  house 
if  only  to  be  rid  of  her  perpetual  mourning  for  a  child  she 
had  treated  badly  when  alive. 

It   was   arranged   that   Philip   should  live   with   Maria, 


26o  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

and  his  precious  books  were  already  transferred  to  the  new 
home,  one  of  the  older  houses  of  the  Island,  unpretentious 
but  comfortable.  The  family  furniture  was  taken  from 
storage,  and  Maria  saw  each  piece  set  up  with  a  thrill  of 
pleasure.  At  last  she  would  be  again  the  mistress  of  a 
home;  no  longer  under  Ada's  invisible  lash. 

But  on  the  very  eve  of  removal  Philip  came  to  Neal  look- 
ing transfigured.  He  had  great  news  to  announce — no 
less  than  his  engagement  to  one  of  the  summer-school 
students  from  New  England ;  a  teacher  herself  in  a  woman's 
college.  They  had  read  Greek  together  with  this  novel 
result. 

Philip's  joy  was  unfeigned.  Neal  felt  a  throb  of  envy 
of  an  experience  forever  closed  to  himself. 

"  Will  it  make  any  difference  in  your  plans  for  living 
with  Maria  ?  "  he  asked  after  the  congratulations  were  over. 

Philip  looked  troubled.  "  I  am  afraid  it  will.  You  see, 
when  I  consented  I  did  not  know  this — this  happiness  was 
coming  so  soon." 

"  You  couldn't  all  live  together  ?  " 

Philip  hesitated,  then  abandoned  himself  to  the  blessed 
truth. 

"  We  want  to  be  alone — absolutely  alone.  In  fact,  Miss 
Fairchild  has  made  that  one  of  the  conditions  of  our  mar- 
riage. She  doesn't  believe  in  one  roof  sheltering  two 
families." 

"  She's  right." 

"  We'll  live  in  town — near  the  University,"  Philip  con- 
cluded. 

Neal  then  went  to  Jack  to  ask  him  if  he  would  recon- 
sider living  with  Maria.  Jack  returned  a  wistful  negative. 

"  I'm  fond  of  Maria,"  he  said,  "  but  she  gets  on  my 
nerves,  Neal.  And  to  tell  the  truth,  Ada  keeps  my  back- 
bone stiffer." 

Neal  winced  a  little.  It  was  one  of  the  inexplicable 
ironies  of  life  that  not  Alexander  Carmichael's  admonitions, 
Philip's  blameless  example,  Caecilia's  prayers  and  Maria's 
tears  had  done  for  Jack  what  Ada's  hard  worldiness  had 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  261 

accomplished.  She  had  cowed  and  fed  him  into  a  sem- 
blance of  righteousness. 

Maria  was  plaintive  over  the  fact  that  no  one  would 
live  with  her,  but  her  interest  in  the  house  was  not  lessened ; 
and  one  day,  not  without  tears,  she  removed  her  personal 
belongings  there.  Neal  had  engaged  two  servants  for  her. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  one  of  his  problems  at  least  was 
solved. 

His  launching  with  Peter  had  been  accomplished,  but  he 
was  as  yet  only  on  the  edges  of  the  mystery  finance  was  to 
him.  He  had  been  obliged  in  his  capacity  of  editor  to  know 
theoretically  much  of  its  workings,  but  to  attempt  to  juggle 
the  balls  with  stiff  muscles  was  another  matter.  He  had, 
indeed,  entered  a  new  universe,  where  men  warred,  not 
against  principalities  and  powers,  but  for  them;  where  the 
eagle  eye  and  the  hawk  beak  were  a  necessary  part  of  the 
equipment;  where  gambling  had  become  epic;  and  chance 
Brobdingnagian. 

Neal  despised  it  for  a  time,  then  a  keen  desire  to  see 
what  it  all  meant  was  aroused  in  him ;  together  with  a  half- 
cynical  wish  to  learn  if  honesty  could  carve  any  path 
through  the  savage  jungle  of  the  Street.  He  doubted  it. 

Even  Peter  played  two  parts — two  unrelated  roles.  The 
Peter  Neal  knew  as  a  citizen  was  a  kindly,  honorable  man, 
who  passed  the  plate  of  Sundays  at  St.  Anne's,  listened  to 
sermons,  and  was  a  good  fellow  at  the  club.  The  Peter 
Neal  knew  as  a  broker  was  playing  hopscotch  with  the 
devil.  To  be  in  the  competition  at  all  was  to  smell  sulphur, 
to  match  hoof  with  hoof. 

Yet  Neal,  descending  into  the  pit,  was  conscious  that 
its  light  explained  more  things  than  he  had  ever  been  able 
to  read  by  the  pure  rays  of  idealism.  His  whole  domestic 
situation  seemed  more  intelligible,  Ada's  life  more  coherent. 
The  game  explained  her,  or  she  the  game ;  men  played  with 
such  febrile  intensity. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

JIM  and  Lil  were  seated  together  one  evening,  between 
them  on  the  table  a  photograph  Patricia  had  left  that  after- 
noon of  their  new  home,  a  gift  which  actually  confirmed 
a  well-nigh  incredible  report  that  they  were  to  have  a  farm 
and  a  house  of  their  own. 

"It's  real  pretty,  isn't  it?"  Lil  said  lovingly.  "Won't 
it  be  a  grand  place  to  dry  clothes?  Miss  Patricia  said  we 
could  have  a  boat,  though  it's  tide-water  and  deep.  Did 
you  ever  row  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  did !    She  said  the  house  faced  south." 

"  Straight  south — sun  all  day.  I'm  goin'  to  have  a 
garden." 

"  An'  me  a  vegetable  garden.  We'll  raise  every  blamed 
thing  we  can  raise.  If  I  had  had  a  chanst  like  this  before 
I'd  never  'a'  got  in  jail." 

"  Never  mind !    We'll  start  fresh  down  there." 

They  talked  of  their  plans  until  late  in  the  night.  They 
were  dreamily  happy,  like  two  children  expecting  a  Christ- 
mas tree.  Patricia  was  furnishing  the  house  for  them,  and 
Mr.  Carmichael  was  aiding  her.  He  had  been  to  see  them 
once  or  twice,  and  he  and  Patricia  had  done  some  shopping 
together.  The  removal  to  the  country  was  to  take  place  the 
following  week,  which  would  be  the  second  week  in  April. 

Patricia  herself  was  looking  forward  to  this  migration 
almost  as  eagerly  as  the  two  for  whom  it  was  planned.  Yet 
the  shadow  that  fell  across  her  joy  was  the  fear  that 
the  accomplished  fact  meant  the  end  of  her  intercourse  with 
Neal.  For  four  months  she  had  seen  him  almost  as  fre- 
quently as  during  the  precious  period  of  her  engagement. 
Not  one  word  passed  between  them  that  all  the  world  might 
not  have  heard,  yet  she  was  thrillingly  conscious  of  the  deep 
understanding  which  now  drew  them  together  with  mag- 

262 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  263 

netic  force.  Thomas  had  made  no  further  objection  to 
Patricia's  seeing  Carmichael,  and  his  suspicions  were  laid  to 
rest  by  her  very  gentleness  and  preoccupation.  Indeed,  she 
was  so  wholly  with  Neal  in  spirit  that  her  old  defenses 
against  Thomas  seemed  unnecessary.  She  gave  him  more 
than  in  the  days  when  her  heart  was  hungry. 

During  these  months  Neal's  hours  with  Patricia  had 
furnished  to  him  the  element  of  rescue  from  an  almost  in- 
tolerable strain;  for  the  breaking-in  with  Peter  had  been 
complicated  by  an  illness  of  his  grandfather's,  and  by  cer- 
tain developments  in  his  relation  to  Ada,  who  after  Carl- 
ton's  death  plunged  into  a  round  of  gayeties,  accompanied 
on  most  occasions  by  Robert  Kenneth,  a  young  man  not 
only  lazy  but  well-balanced.  She  avoided  the  Island  and 
the  Islanders,  because  a  large  element  there,  through  their 
friendship  for  the  bereaved  parents  of  young  Carlton,  had 
succeeded  in  keeping  active  the  memory  of  the  tragedy.  On 
more  than  one  occasion  Ada  had  been  directly  cut  by  people 
powerful  enough  to  risk  snubbing  Mrs.  Carmichael.  These 
incidents  had  bitten  deeply  into  her  spirit,  and  she  with- 
drew as  far  as  possible  from  all  functions  at  which  she 
might  meet  Islanders. 

Not  even  the  ghost  of  an  agreement  existed  now  be- 
tween Neal  and  herself.  Even  Peter's  favorable  reports  of 
Neal's  astuteness  in  the  money  market  failed  to  arouse 
anything  in  her  but  contemptuous  comment.  She  could 
not  forgive  her  husband  for  abandoning  his  career,  for  be- 
coming one  of  the  money-makers. 

From  this  arid  background  Neal  went  to  a  woman  whose 
tremulous  pleasure  upon  seeing  him  was  like  the  flush  of 
April  dawns,  and  he  yielded  recklessly  to  the  comfort  of 
this  intercourse  which  remained  impersonal  in  everything 
but  the  inner  spirit.  Their  handshakes,  their  practical 
discussions  of  ways  and  means,  their  formal  partings,  were 
like  the  cloak 'of  fustian  over  an  embroidered  robe.  Each 
was  aware  of  those  woven  colors  of  crimson  and  glints  of 
gold.  Though  Neal  saw  her  in  her  own  home,  he  realized 
how  completely  she  had  disengaged  herself  from  that  back- 


264  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

ground,  and  had  become,  indeed,  an  inhabitant  of  the  cos- 
mopolis  of  romance,  experiencing  all  the  refinements  which 
little  by  little  are  wrought  upon  the  spirits  and  bodies  of 
those  whom  a  great  love  possesses.  Mystery  entered  into 
her  face,  charm  into  her  voice.  What  had  remained  of  her 
early  training  and  associations  was  merged  in  the  sweet, 
indefinite  culture  of  a  loving  woman. 

One  day  in  April  he  went  across  the  ferry  to  keep  what 
he  believed  should  be  his  last  appointment  with  her,  for 
the  intercourse  had  become  perilously  dear  to  him,  a  kind 
of  opiate  for  pain.  That  no  comment  upon  it  reached  him 
from  any  quarter,  that  his  road  held  a  sinister  smoothness, 
seemed  strange  to  him,  yet  deepened  his  sense  of  responsi- 
bility. Murphy,  when  they  met,  was  always  cordial,  even 
condescending,  as  a  man  having  the  upper  hand  might  be 
generous  to  an  old  rival.  Patricia,  her  eyes  these  days 
always  dreamy,  rarely  clear,  her  face  suffused  with  a  tender 
brooding  light,  walked  like  one  in  a  trance  between  the  man 
to  whom  she  was  engaged  and  the  man  she  loved. 

On  this  occasion  she  was  to  take  him  to  the  farm  to 
see  Jim  and  Lil,  who  had  accomplished  the  miracle  of 
transfer  to  that  vague  region  "  the  country  "  only  a  few 
days  before.  Neal's  interest  in  them  had  been  more  indeed 
than  a  yielding  to  Patricia's  influence.  Though  he  had  be- 
come a  stockbroker,  he  was  still  passionately  concerned 
with  those  problems  which  had  haunted  The  Courier  office 
— lively  ghosts  from  the  circumadjacent  streets.  As  in 
Patricia's  case,  the  impossibility  of  grasping  the  many 
aspects  of  the  industrial  problem  had  focused  his  atten- 
tion all  the  more  intently  upon  the  two  figures  that  had 
emerged  from  the  shadowy  ruck  of  the  masses.  Jim  and 
Lil,  one  time  thief  and  one  time  prostitute,  but  now  eager 
climbers  towards  better  things,  stood  in  their  humble  way 
for  the  social  evolution  of  the  masses  behind  them.  If  two, 
thus  crippled,  could  win  out,  might  not  the  race  itself 
win — emerge  at  last  from  the  savagery  of  lust  and  war 
into .  reasonableness,  and  fraternal  warmth,  and  fruitful 
self-control? 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  265 

But  he  and  Patricia  talked  of  none  of  these  things  as 
they  went  down  the  long  lane  below  the  church.  Both 
were  silent,  each  feeling  that  a  crisis  had  arrived  far  more 
personal  than  the  errand  upon  which  they  were  bent.  April 
was  sweet  in  the  lane  with  hint  of  blue  violets  in  the  deep 
lush  grass  where  the  fences  ran  crookedly,  and  a  cloud  of 
blossoms  on  ancient  apple-trees.  In  the  distance,  the  tide- 
water shone  like  a  silver  serpent  winding  its  way  inland. 

"  When  are  you  returning  to  the  Island  ? "  she  asked 
at  last. 

"  Next  week." 

Her  question  sent  them  both  back  into  silence,  for  what 
could  his  return  mean  but  a  disappearance  into  Ada's 
world.  Neal  longed  to  say  something  to  indicate  that  he 
and  Patricia  must  see  each  other  from  time  to  time;  but 
words  seemed  so  futile.  He  knew  they  should  not  see  each 
other;  for  the  emotion,  fair  as  dawn  to  them  both,  could 
only  in  the  end  destroy  their  peace.  Where  could  it  lead 
but  to  the  cul-de-sac  of  "  Thou  shalt  not."  By  one  of 
those  flashes  of  insight  which  from  boyhood  had  rendered 
life  for  him  a  complicated  matter,  he  saw  that  Ada  might 
have  called  her  association  with  Carlton  "  a  communion 
of  souls."  The  law-breaker  is  always  a  euphuist,  a  juggler 
of  vocabulary. 

They  turned  into  the  little  path  that  led  through  the 
orchard,  its  blossom-laden  branches  showing  delicately 
white  and  pink  through  an  azure  curtain  of  smoke,  from 
a  fire  of  brush  that  Jim  was  tending.  Lil  stood  near  him, 
the  light  of  the  flames  in  ruddy  play  over  her  blue  print 
gown.  Both  seemed  like  two  absorbed  happy  children. 
Lil  had  a  kitten  cuddled  in  the  curve  of  her  arm.  When 
she  caught  sight  of  Patricia  and  Neal  her  face  became 
wreathed  in  smiles. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Carmichael,  it's  just  grand ! "  she  said  as 
she  advanced  to  meet  him.  "  It's  livin' — real  livin',  the 
genuwine  article.  Jim  thinks  he's  dreamin'.  He  says  he'll 
wake  up  in  the  city." 

James  Brentwood  put  down  his  rake  and  held  out  his 


266  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

hand.  "  If  I  can  ever  do  anything  for  you,  Mr.  Carmichael, 
or  Miss  Patricia,  I'll  crawl  from  here  to  kingdom  come  to 
do  it." 

"  Do  you  find  the  work  hard  ?  "  Neal  asked. 

"  My  muscles  ache,  but  it  is  a  grand  ache.  I'm  gettin' 
somewheres  with  it — 'tain't  like  city-tired,  used  up  and  no 
more  power  comin',  except  what  you  get  asleepin'  in  bad 
air,  with  noise  all  about  you.  Here  I  feel  like  a  fightin'  cock 
each  mornin'." 

"  You've  only  been  here  three." 

"  Lord !  it  seems  like  thirty  days  or  thirty  minutes.  Let 
me  show  you,  Mr.  Carmichael,  where  the  truck  patch  is 
to  be." 

Patricia  went  in  to  the  house  with  Lil,  who  had  whispered 
that  she  had  a  surprise  for  her.  Only  a  few  rooms  had 
been  furnished,  for  economical  reasons,  and  Patricia,  fol- 
lowing Lil  into  what  was  supposed  to  be  the  unused  wing, 
wondered  what  she  had  to  show  her  there.  Mrs.  Brent- 
wood,  pausing  in  the  passage,  threw  open  a  door  with  a  little 
air  of  triumph. 

"  Yours,"  she  said,  "  when  you  come  visitin'  us." 

A  fully  furnished  bedroom  was  revealed,  a  pretty  har- 
mony of  blue  and  white.  Beside  the  necessary  furniture, 
it  held  only  a  small  crucifix — Lil's  tribute  to  Patricia's 
"  goodness  " — and  a  pot  of  primroses  on  the  sill  of  the  little 
window. 

Patricia's  admiring  exclamation  was  reward  enough  for 
Lil,  who  had  gathered  the  furniture,  little  by  little  through 
secretive  weeks  of  planning  for  this  most  important  room 
in  the  farm-house.  Patricia  examined  it,  praised  the  spread 
drawn  stiffly  over  the  narrow  bed,  the  filmy  curtains  and  the 
little  dressing-table  furnished  with  a  blue  celluloid  "  set  "  of 
toilet  articles. 

"  You'll  come  to  it  sometimes,  won't  you,  when  you're 
tuckered  out  nursing  ?  "  ran  on  Lil  eagerly. 

"  It  was  dear  of  you  to  think  of  it,"  said  Patricia,  press- 
ing her  hand.  Lil,  taking  her  consent  for  granted,  led 
the  way  to  the  living-room,  a  cheerful  place  with  its  painted 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  267 

wooden  furniture,  its  chintzes,  its  reddened  hearth,  its  two 
old  Boston  rockers  and  a  wheezy  shelf-clock,  found  "  up- 
garret  "  in  the  farm-house  and  set  going. 

"  I  jes'  can't  believe  it !  And  the  view !  Always 
that  runnin'  water,  runnin'  to  the  sea,  and  that  pretty 
church  across  the  marshes.  St.  Anne's?  Well,  some 
day  I'm  goin'  to  it — some  day  when  I  have  that  silk 
dress." 

The  silk  dress  was  a  joke  between  them,  but  Lil's  resolu- 
tion to  go  to  church  was  not. 

"  I'm  thinkin'  how  nice  the  bells  will  sound  next  Sunday," 
the  new  housewife  went  on  enthusiastically. 

"  It's  Mr.  Carmichael's  church,"  Patricia  said  shyly. 

Lil  observed  the  bright  flush  that  stole  up  the  girl's 
cheek  as  she  spoke  his  name.  Lil  had  loved  Jim  that  way. 
She  knew ! 

Neal  came  for  Patricia  at  last.  "  Shall  we  walk  down 
to  the  old  mill?" 

She  assented  gladly,  for  upon  her  spirits  the  burden  was 
heavy  of  what  she  deemed  the  inevitable  parting  from 
him.  Each  minute  was  precious  now.  To  Neal  as  he 
looked  upon  Patricia's  face,  drained  white  with  emotion, 
words  from  a  book  once  treasured  came  floating  into  his 
mind :  "  Pale  from  the  poison  of  the  Maremma,  Madonna 
Pia  passes  before  us,  and  Ismene,  with  the  sorrow  of  earth 
still  lingering  about  her,  is  there." 

He  shivered  a  little  in  the  serene  April  air  for  that  touch 
of  something  remote  and  pitiful  about  her,  as  if  never- 
more could  she  know  the  ways  of  happy  women.  For  a 
moment  he  had  the  impulse  to  turn  sharply  around  and 
take  her  through  the  bright  sunshine  back  to  the  open  road 
and  the  towns;  but  twilight,  that  wooes  all  lovers,  awaited 
them  in  the  ancient  mill — twilight  and  sheltering  walls  and 
the  seclusion  for  which  they  longed.  The  parting  could  not 
be  in  the  garish  highway. 

They  entered  the  low  door  of  the  mill  and  stood  together 
in  its  damp,  dark  shelter.  The  hole  where  the  wheel  had 
been  still  yawned  above  the  rushing  tide-water,  which  sent 


268  ,       BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

up  a  cold,  brackish  air.  Both  looked  intently  at  it  a  moment, 
then  their  eyes  were  drawn  together.  A  flame  of  confes- 
sion was  in  this  deep  look.  Patricia  clasped  her  hands 
together.  She  stood  in  tense  attitude  as  if  resisting  some 
over-mastering  impulse.  Neal's  face,  gray  and  sharp,  was 
turned  to  hers. 

"  I  couldn't  say — good-by,"  he  faltered,  "  out  there." 

"Oh,  no!" 

The  words,  like  a  sob  from  her  over-full  heart,  conveyed 
to  him  the  mortal  pain  the  parting  was  to  her.  For  an 
instant  they  hesitated.  The  next,  they  were  clasped  in  each 
other's  arms  with  a  cry  of  recognition — or  a  sob  of  im- 
pending anguish.  Silently  they  clung  together,  their  kiss, 
sudden,  swift,  releasing  their  wonder,  their  mutual  self- 
arraignment.  The  moment  was  ecstasy,  then  a  pain  more 
blinding  even  than  joy  smote  them,  forced  them  from  each 
other.  Both  had  felt  the  sword. 

"  Patricia !  "  he  cried.     "  Oh,  don't  look  at  me  so !  " 

"  Why  have  you  made  it  harder?" 

Her  voice  had  the  far-off  sound  of  the  coming  of  a 
tempest. 

"  I  needed  you  so." 

"  You've  made  an  end  of  it  now,"  she  cried. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked  hungrily. 

"  We  can  never  see  each  other  again.     This  is  wrong/' 

Her  clear  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  with  an  anguish  of 
appeal.  No  sentimentalities  could  blind  this  woman,  no 
fatuous  speech  of  mating  souls.  Her  words,  "  This  is 
wrong,"  struck  lightning  across  the  depth  of  the  gulf  upon 
whose  brink  they  stood.  With  all  Patricia's  modernity, 
the  roots  of  her  being  were  deep  in  that  ancient  soil  upon 
which  flourished  a  Church  which  recognized  the  Seven 
Deadly  Sins.  He  saw  what  she  thought  of  herself  as  she 
stood  transfixed  with  realization.  Yet  as  the  consciousness 
of  sin  rarely  saves  from  sin,  already  her  hands  were 
groping  again  towards  him.  The  cry  of  her  heart 
drowned  the  cry  of  her  conscience.  Again  they  drew 
together. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  269 

"  It  is  the  last  time,"  she  murmured  as  her  lips  met  his. 
"  Oh,  just  this  time — and  then  never,  never,  never  in  all 
the  world." 

"  Dearest — mine — nearer  than  anyone — mine  and  I  didn't 
know !  " 

"  I  love  you !  God  help  me,  but  I  love  you !  " 
Then  silence  and  the  drifting  of  their  spirits  into  that 
strange  apathy  of  two  near  to  the  brink  of  disaster.  His 
words  were  low  now  and  she  did  not  speak  at  all,  but 
quiescent  in  his  arms  seemed  in  some  trance  of  yielding. 
But  suddenly  she  drew  from  him  in  a  last  effort  to  re- 
cover that  ancient  self  which  sat  far  off  in  high  judgment, 
amid  the  cold,  star-like  candles  of  forgotten  shrines. 
"  I  must  go !  Good-by,  forever.  You  know  now !  " 
Like  a  ghost  she  slipped  from  him,  still  and  white  and 
guilt-stricken.  But  he  remembered  they  would  have  to 
pass  through  the  garden,  and  followed  close  behind  her; 
while  they  waved  stiff  adieus  from  a  distance  to  the  occu- 
pants of  the  farm.  But  in  the  lane,  obedient  to  her  wishes, 
he  fell  behind  her,  and  she  went  on  before  him  swiftly, 
impetuously,  like  one  racing  with  death.  The  sound  of 
her  quick  breathing  came  to  him  at  times. 

He  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  going  back  to  the 
city,  and  his  restlessness  took  him  at  last  to  Maria's 
modest  little  house.  She  welcomed  him  effusively,  for 
though  she  would  never  have  admitted  it  her  loneliness  was 
excessive.  But  her  choice  was  made  and  she  had  sense 
enough  at  least  to  abide  by  it. 

"  Why  are  you  down  on  the  Island  ?  "  she  questioned. 
"  I'll  be  glad  to  have  Father  near  by  again — and  Jack 
will  run  in  when  you're  all  living  here.  Jack's  good  com- 
pany. I've  just  had  a  letter  from  Ceil.  The  dear  thing 
is  reveling  in  the  Holy  Land.  I  always  thought  it  rather 
barren  and  dirty,  but  of  course  this  is  like  a  second  honey- 
moon to  her.  Everything  is  couleur  de  rose.  David  has 
met  an  old  seminary  chum,  and  they  all  seem  like  children 
out  of  school.  But  here  is  the  letter.  You'd  better  take 


270  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

it  up  to  Father.  Neal,  dear,  are  you  working  too  hard? 
You  haven't  a  particle  of  color  in  your  face." 

"  No,  I  am  not  working  too  hard." 

"How's  Ada?" 

"  Very  well." 

Maria  hesitated.  But  in  her  eyes  was  the  look  of  one 
who  has  news  to  tell. 

"  Who  do  you  think  has  taken  the  Hart  estate  for  the 
summer  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  Neal  replied  listlessly. 

"  Ada's  old  friend  Wentworth." 

"He!" 

"  Yes,  and  he's  Sir  Howard  Wentworth  now.  He's 
succeeded  to  a  title.  His  wife  would  be  '  Lady '  if  she 
lived." 

"  He  is  a  widower  then?  " 

"  His  wife  died  a  year  ago.  Everyone  wonders  why  he 
is  back.  But  here  he  is.  I  suppose  he  and  Ada  will  meet," 
she  added  significantly. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Neal  commented.  Neither  the  news  nor 
its  possible  consequences  aroused  his  interest.  He  was  with 
Patricia,  living  over  and  over  again  the  priceless  moment. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

PATRICIA,  on  the  Saturday  before  Easter,  was  standing 
in  the  nave  of  St.  Margaret's  Church  awaiting  her  turn  to 
enter  the  confessional.  The  tenseness  of  her  attitude  as 
well  as  her  pallor  betrayed  inner  conflict.  From  her  infancy 
her  Church  had  been  to  her  the  symbol  of  supreme  power, 
controlling  the  mystic  treasure  of  the  saints  as  well  as  the 
crepuscular  destinies  of  the  erring.  However  far  afield 
her  mind  wandered  in  modern  speculations  concerning  the 
affairs,  temporal  and  spiritual,  of  men,  her  heart  returned 
always  to  the  mysterious  sanctuary  where  daily  God  was 
garmented  in  mortality.  This  Church  which  had  power  to 
bind  or  to  loose  afforded  her  access,  as  did  no  other  force, 
to  the  endless  romance  of  the  religious  life — to  the  presence 
of  Christ  Himself  with  His  mysterious  allurements,  out- 
weighing even  the  world's  wealth. 

Once  she  looked  towards  the  altar,  crossed  herself  and 
sighed  profoundly.  The  Day  of  Supreme  Pain  was  over, 
with  its  long  vigils,  its  cry,  its  supernatural  darkness,  its 
final  yielding  to  the  fruits  of  heavenly  passion.  Already 
was  begun  the  preparation  for  a  stupendous  miracle — the 
showing  forth  of  what  the  tomb  could  not  contain. 

But  her  mind  shrank  from  the  contemplation  of  Easter 
Day,  as  a  festival  to  which  she  must  proceed  unreconciled. 
Through  the  days  of  Holy  Week  she  had  been  torn  between 
the  knowledge  of  her  sin — one  of  the  Deadly  Seven — and 
the  curious  fact  of  an  exhilaration  which  transcended  the 
moral  code.  The  remembrance  of  the  scene  in  the  mill, 
though  painful,  held  a  thrilling  sweetness,  an  element  of 
perfect  harmony  in  which  both  good  and  evil  were  for- 
gotten. She  had  been  always  his.  That  he  should  become 
hers  seemed  only  the  reflex  of  a  exquisitely  balanced  logic. 

So  much  for  emotion !  But  when,  with  cold  deliberation, 

271 


272  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

she  forced  herself  to  tear  away  the  veils  of  sentiment  and 
passion,  and  to  look  upon  herself  in  the  arms  of  a  man  mar- 
ried to  another,  she  knew  that  she  was  a  sinner. 

Should  she  confess?  And  if  she  held  back  the  relating 
of  her  sin,  would  not  the  value  of  her  Easter  Communion 
be  impaired?  Could  she  receive  Christ  into  a  lying  soul? 
Better  not  receive!  But  then  what  would  Father  Carew 
say  to  her?  He  might  put  down  her  omission  on  Easter 
Day  to  some  exigency  of  her  nursing,  but  if  she  did  not 
receive  in  the  octave  of  Easter,  he  would  demand  an  ex- 
planation. 

Someone  touched  her  elbow.  Turning  she  saw  Thomas, 
his  usual  warm,  proprietary  manner  veiled  by  his  deference 
to  the  time  and  place  of  their  meeting. 

"  Father  Carew  can  take  you  now,  Pat,  if  you  slip  in 
quick  the  moment  Mary  McCarthy  appears.  She  never  has 
much  to  tell,  just  slavin'  all  day  at  home  with  her  children. 
Golly !  I  wish  my  conscience  was  as  clear." 

Patricia  flushed,  then  paled.  "  I'm  confessing  to  Father 
McCann." 

He  looked  astonished.    "  Since  when " 

Patricia  put  a  finger  to  her  lips.  At  that  moment  some- 
one emerging  from  Father  McCann's  confessional,  she 
slipped  into  it,  her  dominant  thought  being  that  she  could  not 
tell  even  a  priest  of  that  kiss  at  the  mill.  It  was  sacred ! 
It  was  sacred! 

Thomas,  who  had  already  whispered  his  sins  and  received 
absolution,  waited  for  her  to  come  out.  Soon  she  joined 
him,  but  she  seemed  grave,  abstracted,  with  none  of  the 
buoyancy  that  usually  follows  confession.  Outside  the 
church,  he  asked  her,  "  What  Mass  are  you  going  to  in  the 
morning,  Pat?  Six,  I  suppose?" 

"  I'm  coming  to  High  Mass." 

"  And  fast  till  eleven !  I  hope  you  won't  do  that  the 
day  we're  married.  My  legs  get  all  shaky  when  I  don't 
eat — and  they'll  be  shaky  enough  anyway  when  I'm  march- 
ing up  the  aisle  with  you." 

Patricia  smiled  faintly.    She  wanted  to  tell  Thomas  that 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  273 

she  couldn't  marry  him,  but  she  found  no  words ;  and  they 
walked  on  together  through  the  moist  warm  air,  heavy  with 
the  smell  of  lilacs  from  many  a  door-yard.  From  time  to 
time  Thomas  stole  glances  at  her — looks  from  high  hopes 
and  a  full  heart.  The  spring  was  in  his  blood  which  was 
demanding  a  happiness  already  too  long  delayed. 

"Pat?" 

"  Yes,  Tom." 

"  Let's  get  married  in  June." 

He  saw  a  quiver  pass  through  her.  She  set  her  lips  a 
moment,  then  opened  them  to  say,  "  I  can't." 

"  Why  not?  "    His  voice  had  an  edge  in  it. 

"  I  don't "  she  had  started  to  say,  "  I  don't  love  you  " ; 

but  the  words  in  her  mind  sounded  like  the  banal  echo  of 
inexcusable  indecision.  She  couldn't  turn  back  "how,  again 
to  amaze  and  enrage  her  father  and  puzzle  her  family. 
What  she  had  begun  she  must  finish,  though  now  it  seemed 
to  her  that  death  was  preferable.  She  must  gain  time. 
June  was  too  near.  Perhaps  before  Autumn  something 
would  happen  to  release  her. 

"  I  can't  be  married  in  June,  Tom." 

"When,  then?" 

He  spoke  sharply.  These  delays  were  getting  on  his 
nerves.  He  had  been  very  patient.  For  years  he  had 
danced  to  her  piping.  It  was  high  time  she  rewarded  him 
for  his  devotion.  Suddenly  he  turned  into  a  street  that  led 
back  to  the  hills. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  Patricia  asked  instead  of  an- 
swering his  question. 

"  I  want  to  show  you  our  house ;  it's  nearly  done." 

"Oh!" 

The  little  futile  exclamation  was  like  a  misplaced  cipher. 
Turning,  he  regarded  her  with  genuine  curiosity. 

"  You  are  a  strange  woman,  Pat.  Since  I  showed  you 
the  plans  you've  never  once  asked  me  about  the  house.  I 
might  be  building  it  upside  down,  and  painting  it  sky-blue, 
for  all  you've  taken  the  trouble  to  find  out." 

"  Houses  are  prisons,  mostly,"  she  replied. 


274  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  No  bars  to  our  windows,"  he  answered  good-humoredly. 
"  And  you  can't  beat  the  view  on  the  Island,  not  even  from 
Carmichael  House." 

To  her  annoyance  she  felt  the  color  suffusing  her  fore- 
head. Thomas  cast  a  keen  glance  at  her.  For  months, 
or  ever  since  his  engagement  with  her,  his  jealousy  had 
been  put  to  sleep  by  his  perfect  confidence  in  her  integrity. 

But  this  telltale  color  was  like  a  flag  of  piracy.  Would 
she  again  destroy  his  peace,  rob  him  of  sleep,  of  joy,  of 
the  zest  of  life,  as  during  her  brief  engagement  with  the 
pale  Neal  Carmichael?  What  hateful  spell  had  he  cast 
upon  her,  that  even  the  house  that  lodged  him  affected 
her,  in  its  very  mention,  like  a  living  soul  ? 

"  Ever  see  Mr.  Carmichael  ? "  he  said,  trying  to  speak 
casually. 

Her  candid  soul  hated  a  lie;  but  already  she  had  lied  in 
the  confessional. 

"  No,"  she  said. 

He  accepted  the  negative,  and  a  load  was  lifted  from 
his  heart.  He  began  to  talk  of  "  Overlook  House,"  as  he 
wished  to  name  their  domain. 

"  The  kitchens  are  in  a  wing  by  themselves,  and  so  are 
the  maids'  rooms,  and  they'll  have  their  own  dining,  sitting 
and  bath  rooms.  I  have  a  whole  suite  for  you,  Pat;  your 
own  private  bath  and  sitting-room,  your — your  own  bed- 
room; fireplaces  everywhere;  woodwork  all  dark,  so  it 
won't  be  so  hard  to  keep  clean.  I've  got  a  landscape  artist 
to  adapt  the  garden  to  the  house — or  the  house  to  the  gar- 
den. None  of  these  hill-people  will  have  a  thing  on  Thomas 
Murphy,  Junior,  when  he  gets  through.  And  I  haven't  any 
cupolas,  either,  or  gingerbread  ornamentation.  It  will  be 
the  quietest  and  richest  house  on  the  Island.  I  considered 
you  from  cellar  to  garret — your  tastes,  your  dear,  quiet 
ways." 

Her  heart  swelled  with  a  feeling,  half  of  pity,  half  of 
resentment — the  resentment  of  a  person  committing  an 
injustice  under  circumstances  which  increase  the  sense  of 
debtorship. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  275 

"  It  must  be  a  wonderful  house,"  she  ventured. 

"  It  is !  Can  you  walk  there — or  will  you  wait  on  this 
corner  while  I  run  the  machine  around  ?  " 

"  Let's  walk." 

She  avoided  riding  with  Thomas  whenever  she  could, 
for  to  be  in  the  car  with  him  gave  her  the  sense  of  being 
a  prisoner  taken  hither  and  thither  at  his  will.  So  they 
toiled  up  the  slopes  together,  passing  on  their  way  many  a 
porched  house,  many  a  garden  gay  with  forsythia  and 
iris.  In  the  distance  the  sea  glittered,  and  white  sails 
caught  the  sun. 

"  We're  going  to  Europe  on  our  honeymoon,"  Thomas 
said  blithely.  "  You  may  not  know  it,  but  we  are !  " 

Patricia  said  nothing. 

At  last  they  were  in  the  grounds  of  the  estate.  Passing 
through  a  charming  stretch  of  woodland  they  came  to  a 
little  blue  lake,  one  of  the  many  which,  strangely  enough,  the 
Island  holds  not  in  its  hollows  but  on  the  summit  of  the 
hills.  The  banks  were  thick  with  blue  iris. 

Soon  they  saw  the  house,  a  square,  solid,  substantial 
building  in  the  Georgian  style  of  architecture,  with  high, 
sloping  roof,  massive  chimneys  and  high,  little-paned 
windows. 

"  Now  look  at  the  view.    Then  we'll  look  at  the  house." 

Patricia  turned  obediently.  The  view  was  magnificent, 
including  a  low  range  of  mountains,  the  outside  sea,  the 
inside  harbor.  But  she  saw  no  hope  in  the  shining  vistas. 

Reluctantly  she  entered  the  house  which  was  still  to  be 
plastered,  and  which  still  held  the  cold  of  March  against  the 
April  sunshine  that  poured  through  the  windows.  Thomas 
in  an  ecstasy  of  achievement,  of  exhilaration  over  his  fore- 
sight, led  the  way  from  room  to  room,  guiding  Patricia 
around  piles  of  lumber,  pointing  out  to  her  the  mechanical 
contrivances  for  reducing  labor  to  a  minimum. 

"  Of  course,  the  decorations  are  to  be  left  entirely  to 
you — and  I'll  eat  my  hat  if  you  can't  go  twice  around  Mrs. 
Carmichael  on  those  matters." 

This  time  Patricia  did  not  blush.    "  I  like  simple  furni- 


276  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

ture,"  she  answered  musingly.  "  Don't  let's  try  to  outdo 
anyone." 

"  Perhaps  you're  right,  Pat,  but  the  hill-people  make 
me  mad  sometimes ;  they  act  as  if  the  Lord  had  given  them 
all  the  money  and  all  the  talents  too." 

They  had  completed  the  tour  of  the  house  and  were 
again  in  the  entrance  hall,  when  there  was  a  sound  of 
trotting  horses  on  the  drive.  Thomas  opened  the  front 
door  and  found  that  Mrs.  Carmichael  had  reined  her  horse 
close  to  the  steps.  She  looked  strikingly  beautiful  and  ani- 
mated. With  her  was  a  man  whom  Thomas  recognized  as 
her  old  suitor,  Wentworth.  They  were  gazing  at  the  house 
with  unfeigned  admiration.  Patricia  shrank  back  into  the 
hall ;  she  had  no  wish  to  encounter  Ada. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Murphy  ?  "  Ada  said  with  the 
charm  of  address  she  was  accustomed  to  exercise  towards 
every  man  she  met,  high  or  low.  "  Can  you  tell  me  whose 
house  this  is  ?  " 

"  Mine,"  Thomas  answered  curtly,  yet  with  an  inevitable 
thrill  of  pride. 

"  Yours ! "  Ada  could  not  keep  the  surprise  from  her 
voice.  "  Are  you  going  to  rent  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  live  in  it." 

"Alone?" 

"  No,  indeed !    I  am  engaged  to  Miss  McCoy." 

His  voice  had  already  the  commanding  ring  of  the  proud 
husband.  Patricia  came  slowly  forward,  with  what  dignity 
her  resentment  of  the  situation  allowed  her  to  command. 
Her  eyes  beneath  her  dark  lashes  surveyed  Ada  with  a 
veiled,  still,  secretive  look. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Patricia?  "  Ada  said  gayly.  "  I  think 
you  are  in  luck." 

"  The  architect  knew  his  business,"  Wentworth  threw  in. 
"  You  have  a  ripping  view !  " 

"  Ripping,"  Ada  echoed. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  the  house?"  Thomas  said 
eagerly. 

"  I  adore  seeing  new  houses." 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  277 

Wentworth  did  not  look  as  if  he  did.  Rather  sullenly 
he  dismounted  and  assisted  Ada,  who  went  lightly  up  the 
steps,  the  sunlight  turning  her  crisp  hair  to  gold,  her 
figure  adorably  tall  and  slender  in  her  riding  clothes. 
Thomas  reflected  with  jealous  triumph  that  Patricia's  figure 
was  equally  slender  and  sinuous. 

Patricia  did  not  follow  her  unexpected  guests  into  the 
house,  but  stood  on  the  steps  wishing  she  could  disappear 
forever  from  the  scene.  She  felt  bruised  and  darkened  by 
her  lie  to  Thomas,  which  had  followed  the  lie  in  the  con- 
fessional. Life  had  become  a  tangle  of  interlacing  paths 
whose  goals  were  invisible,  instead  of  the  straight,  clear 
perspective  of  an  earlier  day.  Her  own  personality  seemed 
foreign  to  her,  the  Island  a  prison,  Thomas  a  prisoner 
with  her.  Would  he  not  inevitably  feel  the  chains,  not  of 
her  love,  but  of  her  indifference?  She  pitied  him  even 
more  than  she  pitied  herself.  Why  could  not  people  speak 
truth  to  each  other,  even  though  the  truth  revealed  their 
utter  frailty,  their  helplessness  as  of  creatures  buffeted  by 
doubts.  If  she  could  only  say  to  Thomas,  "  I  cannot  help 
this  love  for  Neal  Carmichael  born  in  me  so  many  years 
ago.  I  want  to  play  fair.  Let  me  go  my  way !  " 

But  no!  that  wasn't  the  manner  of  existence.  People 
dodged,  hid,  covered  their  secrets  with  smiles,  their  heart- 
aches with  pretense,  making  a  bad  matter  worse  by  their 
invincible  cowardice. 

Ada  came  out.  Her  admiration  of  the  house  was  real. 
She  looked  curiously  at  Patricia,  standing  in  the  sunlight 
with  an  indifferent  manner  which,  Ada  felt,  was  not 
assumed.  What  quality  in  this  Irish  girl  had  drawn  Neal 
into  his  brief  engagement  with  her,  and  this  young  Murphy 
into  a  devotion  of  which  this  splendidly  equipped  house  was 
but  a  symbol? 

"  When  are  you  to  be  married  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know  yet,"  Patricia  answered. 

"  Soon,  I  should  suppose,  as  the  house  is  nearly  com- 
pleted." 

Patricia  did  not  question  the  logic. 


278  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Ada,  when  she  and  Wentworth  had  ridden  away,  turned 
an  inquiring  look  upon  her  companion. 

"  What  impression  did  you  get  of  those  two  ? "  she 
asked. 

He  smiled.    "  It  takes  more  than  a  house "  he  began. 

"  Exactly !  It  takes  more  than  a  house.  Do  you  con- 
sider her  pretty?" 

Wentworth  reflected.  "  I  do  not  know.  I  do  not  see 
other  women  when  you  are  with  me." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THAT  Jack's  card  should  be  brought  in  to  him  seemed 
to  Peter  like  a  direct  answer  to  certain  questions  that  had 
persisted  in  his  consciousness  throughout  the  labors  of  an 
oppressively  warm  June  day — questions  of  course  sug- 
gested by  what  had  happened  on  the  terrace  of  the  Coun- 
try Club  the  night  before.  It  was  lamentable  that  Neal 
had  shown  such  a  lack  of  worldly  aplomb,  but  on  the 
other  hand  Ada  was  enough  to  try  the  patience  of  a 
saint. 

Jack  appeared.  His  usual  gay  manner  had  dropped 
from  him,  and  his  blue  eyes  had  the  gravity  of  a  judge's. 

"  Hello !  "  Peter  said.    "  Sit  down.    Cigar  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Cigarette?" 

"  No,  thanks.  Say,  Peter,  you  were  up  there  last  night. 
Just  what  did  happen?  Several  garbled  reports  have 
reached  me.  I  expect  to  hear  next  that  Neal  knocked 
Ada  down." 

Peter  grinned. 

"  If  he  had  done  that  once  or  twice,  in  the  privacy  of  his 
own  apartments,  she  might  have  had  some  respect  for  him. 
No,  he  didn't  knock  her  down;  I  was  there  and  saw  the 
whole  thing.  She  and  Sir  Howard  were  dining  d  deux,  and 
along  comes  Neal.  Now  he  may  have  been  drinking,  for 
his  face  was  flushed." 

Jack  nodded,  looking  worried. 

"  However,  Ada  hailed  him,"  continued  Peter.  "  She 
called  out,  '  Neal,  come  here  a  minute.' " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Jack  interrupted  eagerly,  "  and  then  ?  " 

"  He  stopped  short,  looked  her  and  Sir  Howard  over 
with  a  good  long  stare,  turned  on  his  heel  without  a  word 
and  went  into  the  Club.  Of  course,  the  other  diners  nearly 

279 


280  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

died  from  sheer  satisfaction.  I  think  everybody's  secret 
hope  was  that  there'd  be  a  shooting." 

"That  was  all?" 

"  Nothing  else — but  Neal's  stare  should  have  been  photo- 
graphed. It  was  ugly  as  a  gun.  I  shivered  myself.  When 
a  man  like  Neal  is  at  outs  with  life,  there's  hell  to  pay." 

"  Ada  went  a  bit  too  far,"  Jack  commented. 

"  Has  she  said  anything  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  seen  her.  But  things  have  been  going  from 
bad  to  worse  ever  since  we  came  back  from  the  city.  I 
wish  Wentworth  had  stayed  on  his  own  Island." 

Peter  mused.  "  I  don't  understand  her,  but,  there  are  a 
lot  of  things  I  don't  understand.  I  used  to  think  I  knew 
it  all.  I  wish  I  thought  that  now." 

"  Comfortable  state  of  mind,"  Jack  murmured.  "  En- 
viable— not  possible — after  thirty.  Neal  at  work  to-day?" 

"  Showed  up  this  morning — seemed  a  bit  edgy.  Ideal- 
ists are  in  the  forenoon.  He  and  Ada  ought  never  to  have 
married." 

"  Ought  to  be  a  law  against  it,"  Jack  said,  staring  help- 
lessly into  space.  "  Neal  never  did  see  women  right ;  he's 
the  kind  that  thinks  they  are  either  angels  or  devils — 
dreadful  mistake." 

Peter  smiled  grimly. 

Jack,  going  uptown  to  Neal's  club  in  the  hope  of  find- 
ing him,  reflected  upon  the  incident  related  to  him  by 
Peter,  with  his  usual  desire  to  take  a  fair  and  equitable 
view  of  the  situation.  His  own  experiences  had  developed 
in  him  a  very  real  charity  towards  the  failings  of  his  fel- 
lows; but,  after  all,  Ada  was  less  to  him  than  Neal.  For 
this  theoretical  nephew  whose  spiritual  farsight  constantly 
deflected  his  adjacent  vision  Jack  had  a  very  real  affection 
that  he  found  difficulty  in  expressing.  He  had  never  gotten 
very  near  to  Neal,  who  moved  in  a  world  not  altogether 
intelligible  to  his  Uncle  Jack's  frankly  pagan  tastes. 

Peter's  ventured  explanation  that  Neal  had  been  drink- 
ing disturbed  Jack  most  of  all.  It  was  in  the  Carmichael 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  281 

blood,  this  tendency  to  become  a  superman  through  the  aid 
of  wine.  The  old  sea-captain  ancestors  of  a  hundred  and 
more  years  before  had  been  hard  drinkers — on  shore  at 
least;  had  gained  unearthly  ports  and  ravished  fairy 
treasure  through  the  aid  of  the  genii  that  rule  in  a  clouded 
brain.  Until  within  the  last  three  or  four  years  Jack's  most 
marvelous  achievements  had  been  conducted  on  the  vapor- 
ous stage  of  stimulants,  until  it  had  occurred  to  him  one 
day  that  a  headache  is  a  paltry  anti-climax  to  the  con- 
quering of  imaginary  El  Dorados. 

His  knowledge  of  human  nature  told  him  that  if  Neal 
"  went  to  the  bad,"  his  fall  would  be  greater,  and  fraught 
with  more  serious  consequences  to  himself,  than  that  of  a 
man  who  had  never  felt  the  spell  of  Parnassus.  Jack 
wanted  to  put  up  some  kind  of  a  bulwark  against  the  further 
inroads  of  destruction.  A  wholesome  desire  to  pound 
Ada's  beautiful  head  against  a  hard  wall  welled  up  in  him. 
She  had  no  business  to  make  her  husband  ridiculous  in 
public ;  and  Neal,  on  his  side,  had  not  been  "  a  good  sport." 
He  must  have  been  drinking,  Jack  reflected,  for  Neal's 
courtesy  of  manner  was  proverbial. 

Jack  was  more  pleased  than  he  cared  to  show  when  he 
found  Neal  sitting  in  one  of  the  big  windows  of  the  Club, 
a  newspaper,  The  Courier,  over  his  knees,  the  materials  for 
a  highball  on  a  little  table  at  his  elbow.  Jack  having  a 
moment  for  observation  took  in  some  details  of  Neal's 
appearance  that  were  not  reassuring,  the  ashen  pallor  of 
his  skin,  the  dullness  of  his  eyes,  his  general  air  of  fatigue 
and  dejection. 

He  seemed  neither  pleased  nor  displeased  by  the  sudden 
invasion  of  his  solitude  by  his  uncle,  but  asked  in  a  flat 
voice,  "Have  something?" 

"  Too  infernally  hot — makes  you  hotter." 

"  I  was  chilly.  Say,  Jack,  that's  a  pretty  girl — no,  the 
one  in  blue!  The  man  with  her  thinks  so,  too.  What  do 
you  suppose  a  woman  said  to  me  last  night  at  the  Club — 
'  If  women  weren't  dependent  on  men  for  support,  there'd 
be  such  a  sound  of  packing  of  trunks  that  you  couldn't 


282  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

hear  yourself  talk.'  But  what  of  the  men  who  are  depend- 
ent on  women  for  support  ?  Funny,  isn't  it ! " 

"  What's  funny  ?  "  Jack  asked  warily.  Neal  in  a  jocose 
frame  of  mind  was  rather  a  disturbing  novelty  to  him. 

"  Oh,  everybody,  everything." 

"  Funny,  as  hell  is  funny.  Say,  you  don't  need  another 
glass." 

"  You're  not  my  mentor,"  Neal  said  sullenly.  "  I  never 
noticed  you  stopping  at  two." 

"  Take  a  hundred  if  you  like,"  Jack  said  good-humoredly. 

Neal  smiled.  "  Don't  mind  what  I  say.  I  have  a  beastly 
headache." 

"  Whisky  won't  help  it." 

"  I  can  forget  it." 

"  You  can  hog  yourself  into  oblivion.  There's  no  law 
against  it  that  I  know  of." 

Neal  looked  stealthily  amused.  "  Oblivion !  It  sounds 
good  to  me." 

"  You  can't  be  sure  of  getting  to  it  easily.  There  are 
animals  on  the  way  that  the  Lord  never  created  in  Genesis 
— things  of  the  wrong  color,  with  more  legs  than  nature 
allows,  creatures  not  quite  dry,  with  more  ability  to  sprawl 
than  walk,  and  to  stare  than  look,  and  to  twist  and 
twine " 

Neal  grinned.  "  You're  trying  to  frighten  your  nephew 
with  tales  from  the  drunkard's  dream-book.  A  yellow 
elephant,  with  the  head  of  a  cat  and  the  tail  of  a  snake, 
can  be  evoked  by  mixing  three  Martinis  with  four  whisky 
sours  topped  off  by  beer.  I  don't  take  fright.  Leave  me 
in  peace." 

Jack  sucked  the  top  of  his  cane  and  stared  at  the  avenue. 

"  Say,  Neal." 

"Well?" 

"Why  do  you  give  Ada  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
you're  jealous?  " 

Neal  turned  a  languid  eye  on  his  uncle.  "  I  am  not 
jealous,"  he  said  gently.  "  But  really  I  should  like  to 
kill  her." 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  283 

Jack  hid  his  uneasiness  with  a  laugh.  "  Don't  count  on 
it;  Ada  will  never  give  you  the  chance." 

Neal  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  If  she  did,  I  probably 
shouldn't  take  it.  Really  I  don't  care.  I'd  like  to  get  to 
the  end,  that's  all — any  end." 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  better  sport." 

Neal  raised  himself  in  his  chair,  lit  a  cigar,  watched 
the  smoke  dreamily  for  a  while. 

"  Do  you  know  you  were  rude  to  Ada  last  night  at  the 
Club?"  Jack  asked. 

"  Rude  to  her  ?  "  Neal  stared  incredulously.  "  Oh,  no ! 
Just  walked  away  from  her  table — after  I  had  stumbled 
on  her  by  chance.  Two's  company,  three's  none." 

"  Well,  you  didn't  need  to  illustrate  the  proverb  before 
the  entire  Country  Club.  Never  give  people  a  real  chance 
to  gossip ;  they  gab  enough  without  it." 

"  I  suppose  you're  right.  But  Ada  shouldn't  have  called 
out,  '  Come  here,  Neal/  as  if  I  were  her  page-boy,  or 
orphan  taken  to  bring  up.  She's  got  to  know  I  won't 
stand  for  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  Rag  her  in  private,  then,"  Jack  said  soothingly.  "  No 
gentleman  beats  his  wife  in  public." 

"  I'd  beat  up  Wentworth  first,"  Neal  muttered,  "  with 
his  damned  English  insolence." 

"  No,  shake  hands  with  him,  pat  him  on  the  back,  ask 
him  to  have  a  drink;  that's  the  stuff,"  Jack  said  enthusias- 
tically. "  Then  everybody  will  think  everything's  on  the 
square." 

"  Yes,  join  the  mob  of  hypocrites  the  world's  infested 
with  now,"  his  nephew  muttered.  "  Cover  corruption  with 
starched  linen  and  a  correct  tie." 

"  Ta — ra — diddle !  You've  got  common  sense,  Neal ;  use 
it." 

"  I'm  going  to  pull  out.  If  it  weren't  for  grandfather 
I'd  pull  out  to-morrow — and  end  this  farce." 

"  Where  would  you  go  ?     What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I'd  go  and  be  an  honest  man — with — with  some  honest 
woman." 


284  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  They  are  rare,"  Jack  said  sagely. 

"  I  know  one,"  Neal  said,  in  a  voice  suddenly  cleared 
by  some  poignant  recollection.  A  light  passed  over  his  face. 

"  You  are  lucky." 

"  She's  a  saint,"  Neal  whispered.  "  Pure  and  strong  and 
beautiful !  " 

"  Keep  her  so  then,"  Jack  said  gruffly.    "  Never  see  her !  " 

"  Don't  worry.  I've  got  her  good-by  letter.  She  plays 
a  square  game." 

Jack  had  his  immediate  suspicions  that  the  marvel  in 
question  was  Patricia.  Who  else  could  it  be?  The  very 
thought  of  her  reassured  him.  No  chance  for  shipwreck 
there.  He  rose. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  Home  to  dinner.  Better  come  along.  Father  will  be 
pleased.  He  hates  a  vacant  seat." 

"  No,  I  guess  I'll  run  in  on  Philip  and  his  lady." 

Jack  looked  suspicious,  but  he  said  merely,  "  Any  message 
to  Ada?" 

Neal  blew  a  ring  of  smoke. 

"  No,"  he  said. 

Jack  pondered  over  the  situation  as  he  went  home.  Some- 
thing must  be  done !  He  couldn't  see  Neal  go  to  the  bad 
without  an  effort  to  save  him,  for  when  men  like  his  nephew 
started  on  the  downward  road  they  seemed  to  go  faster 
than  those  who  had  no  ideals  of  moral  development.  Moral 
development !  Was  there  such  a  thing  ?  Did  people's  souls 
grow  as  their  bodies  grew,  or  long  after  physical  frames 
had  matured  ?  Jack  abandoned  the  problem  as  too  deep  for 
him  and  went  in  to  change  for  dinner. 

Beside  himself,  Alexander  Carmichael  was  the  sole  mem- 
ber of  the  family  present.  Their  number  being  now  re- 
duced to  four,  absentees  were  the  more  conspicuous.  The 
ancient  head  of  the  house,  fretfully  awaiting  companionship 
in  the  drawing-room,  greeted  Jack  with  the  avidity  of  the 
old  and  lonely. 

"  I  thought  it  was  pretty  hard,  if  I  had  to  eat  all  alone. 
I  was  alone  last  night  and  the  night  before.  Ada  never 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  285 

stays  home  any  more.  In  my  time  women  stayed  at  home. 
Your  mother  and  I  never  dined  apart  in  thirty  years." 

To  Jack's  bachelor  mind  this  announcement  was  about 
as  exhilarating  as  a  curfew ;  but  he  smiled  and  said,  "  Just 
so,"  because  the  old  do  not  like  to  be  crossed.  He  patted 
his  father  on  the  back. 

"  Well,  don't  let's  scorn  our  good  dinner  because  Neal 
and  Ada  don't  know  enough  to  come  home,"  he  said,  link- 
ing an  arm  in  his  father's  and  drawing  him  towards  the 
dining-room  from  which  the  butler  was  emerging  to  an- 
nounce the  sacred  function. 

"  I've  had  a  letter  from  Csecilia,"  Mr.  Carmichael  qua- 
vered. "  She  and  David  may  stay  over  until  next  Spring. 
I  hope  they'll  get  their  fill  by  that  time  and  come  home 
for  good.  But  maybe  I  won't  live  until  next  Spring.  I 
guess  Ada  thinks  I'm  never  going  to  die.  She  looks  at 
me  in  a  queer  way,  but  I  can't  die  until  my  time  comes, 
even  to  please  Ada." 

"  Die  ?  Nonsense ! "  Jack  shouted  across  the  table. 
"  Easy  with  the  soup,  Dad,  or  you'll  burn  your  mouth.  It's 
hot  as  a  Pullman  car  on  an  August  afternoon." 

"  I  had  a  favorite  porter  once "  and  he  launched  into 

a  story. 

After  dinner  Jack  beguiled  him  with  checkers,  and  kept 
eyes  and  ears  open  for  the  return  of  the  happy  husband 
and  wife.  Ada  came  in  about  ten  o'clock.  Jack  heard 
her  murmured  farewells  to  someone  in  the  outer  hall.  She 
advanced  languidly  into  the  room,  bringing  with  her  a  faint 
smell  of  arbutus,  the  perfume  she  was  now  affecting. 

"Hello,  Jack!" 

"Hello,  Ada!" 

"  Good-evening,  Father." 

"  Good-evening.     Been  gadding  again  ?  " 

To  Jack's  surprise  Ada  flushed  and  looked  annoyed. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  responsible  to  this  family  for  my  com- 
ings and  goings,"  she  said. 

Jack  threw  her  a  beseeching  look. 


286  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  The  old  gentleman's  fussing  this  evening,"  he  whispered. 

Ada  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Oh,  very  well,  but  if 
you  knew  how  tired  I  am,  Jack,  of  having  everyone  make 
me  the  victim  of  his  moods." 

"That's  a  stunning  gown — and  you  look  ripping  in  it." 

"  Don't  try  to  divert  my  mind,"  Ada  said,  but  her  tone 
was  mollified.  She  glanced  down  at  her  draperies. 

"  Paquin,"  she  said. 

"  Paquin — for  me,"  Jack  announced. 

It  was  a  moment  or  two  before  they  became  aware  of  a 
singular  figure  standing  in  the  doorway — a  man  whose 
peculiar  stiffness  and  immobility  of  carriage  suggested  the 
wariness  of  one  who  suspects  himself  of  intoxication.  But 
a  smile  of  great  geniality  and  good-fellowship  wreathed  his 
face.  Jack  made  a  hasty  movement,  obeying  an  impulse  to 
remove  Neal  before  Ada  saw  him,  but  it  was  too  late.  He 
had  already  advanced  with  the  rigid  mechanical  walk  and 
set  smile  of  the  obscured.  His  incoherent  snatches  of  speech 
betrayed  a  desire  to  confide  in  his  family. 

Ada  had  risen  and  was  gazing  at  Neal  with  a  look  in 
which  fear  and  disgust  were  mingled,  together  with  a  subtle 
something  which  Jack  found  difficult  to  interpret.  Was  it 
self-reproach,  was  it  curiosity? 

"How  dare  you  come  before  me  this  way?"  she  said 
in  a  low,  clear  voice,  vibrant  with  anger.  "  How  dare 
you!" 

"  Don't  say  anything  to  him,"  Jack  commanded  sharply. 
"  You'll  only  make  matters  worse.  Go  upstairs,  Ada." 

"  I'll  ring  for  someone  to  take  him  upstairs,"  she  an- 
swered. 

Jack  stepped  in  front  of  her.  "  I'll  attend  to  him,  Ada. 
Don't  forget  you  have  some  responsibility  too  in  this." 

"  The  Carmichael  way — never  shoulder  their  own  sins, 
their  own  debts !  " 

Jack  made  a  grimace  as  if  he  had  tasted  something 
bitter.  Mr.  Carmichael  had  risen  and  was  looking  in  be- 
wilderment from  Ada  to  Jack,  and  from  Jack  to  his  grand- 
son. Fortunately  his  failing  sight  and  hearing  concealed 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  287 

from  him  the  cause  of  the  disturbance.  Ada,  with  a 
contemptuous  look  at  her  husband,  left  the  room.  Jack, 
gripping  his  nephew's  arm,  led  him  to  the  library,  forced 
him  down  on  a  couch,  loosened  his  collar  and  removed  his 
shoes. 

"  You  stay  there,"  he  commanded. 

Neal  fell  asleep  almost  immediately,  and  Jack  locked  the 
library  door  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket.  Returning  to 
his  father,  he  explained  that  Neal  had  a  headache,  and 
went  on  with  the  game. 

Upstairs  Ada  was  pacing  the  floor,  a  look  of  victory  in 
her  face,  as  if  destiny  by  its  little  surprises  was  assisting 
some  scheme  of  her  own.  Anger  still  lingered  in  her  eyes, 
twitched  her  mouth  momentarily  from  its  impassive  lines. 
She  went  at  last  to  her  desk  and  wrote. 

"  He's  making  it  easy  for  me  to  do  as  you  wish ;  I'll 
tell  you  what  happened  when  I  see  you — but  I  can  say  this 
much  now.  This  evening  is  a  repetition  of  last,  only  to- 
night it  is  a  certainty.  Beyond  doubt  the  Carmichael  taint 
is  in  him,  too,  for  all  his  high-flown  theories.  If  I  stay 
much  longer  under  this  roof  with  him,  I  shall  hate  him, 
but  we  must  go  slowly.  I  dislike  scandal.  He  must 
create  it,  not  I." 

She  looked  long  at  what  she  had  written,  then  deliber- 
ately tore  it  up.  The  written  word  was  always  dangerous. 

Jack  waited  until  the  house  had  taken  on  the  midnight 
quiet  before  going  to  the  library.  Neal  was  still  asleep. 
Already  was  creeping  into  his  face  the  likeness  of  his  own 
personality.  He  looked  young,  boyish,  defeated.  He 
stirred  uneasily  as  Jack  gazed  at  him  and  murmured  one 
word,  like  a  sigh  from  a  fairer  country.  It  was  "  Patricia." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

WHEN  Neal  awoke  in  the  library  the  next  morning  he 
had  the  sensation  of  having  returned  home  unexpectedly 
from  a  long  and  uncomfortable  journey.  The  nature  and 
character  of  that  journey  were  next  borne  in  upon  his  con- 
sciousness, as  a  result  of  rout  and  defeat  in  an  enemy's 
country — where  certain  sciences  of  warfare  had  been  hope- 
lessly misapplied.  To  become  a  beast  in  order  to  solve  the 
problems  of  a  man  seemed  an  act  of  faulty  logic. 

It  must  not  happen  again,  he  thought  dully;  not  par- 
ticularly because  it  was  wrong,  but  for  the  reason  that  it 
was  stupid,  unedifying,  nauseous — allied  with  soiled  linen 
and  vulgar  jokes,  not  a  gentleman's  role. 

Sitting  up  on  the  couch,  he  looked  about  the  great  room, 
into  which  the  early  sunlight  of  a  June  morning  was  now 
stealing,  at  the  placid  rows  of  books  imparting,  as  books 
do,  an  atmosphere  of  serenity  and  aloofness,  of  intimate 
consolations.  Among  them  all,  was  there  one  to  show  the 
way? 

Later  in  the  day  he  sought  Ada.  She  was  at  her  writing- 
desk,  looking  very  fair  and  fresh  in  a  summer  morning 
dress.  At  sight  of  him  her  brows  were  raised  in  somewhat 
impatient  inquiry. 

"  Ada,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  apologize  to  you  for  last 
night." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  indifferently. 

"  And  for  the  night  before." 

"  You  realize,  then,  that  you  made  a  fool  of  yourself." 

"  I  realize  that  I  was  rude  to  you  in  public.  There  was 
no  excuse.  It  shall  not  happen  again." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.     "  Don't  let's  talk  of  it." 

Before  the  interview  he  had  reminded  himself  that  what- 
ever she  said  he  must  not  get  angry.  Putting  the  curb  on 

288 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  289 

now,  he  replied  quietly,  "  I  think  I  appreciate  what  you 
have  done  for  us,  but  I  hate  to  be  publicly  reminded  of  it." 

"  Your  vanity  is  hurt,  I  suppose." 

"  Perhaps  I  could  wish  you  were  more  discreet." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Your  flirtations  are  getting  you  talked  about." 

She  winced.  "  I  suppose  your  thoughts  never  wander  to 
other  women." 

The  scene  in  the  mill  was  evoked  by  her  words.  She 
saw  the  change  in  his  face  and  her  heart  leaped  exultantly. 
If  only  she  had  some  proof! 

"  My  thoughts  wander  a  good  deal — towards  anyone, 
anything  that  will  guide  me  out  of  this  tangle." 

"  Why  not  go  to  headquarters  ?  " 

"Headquarters?" 

"  A  divorce  court,  of  course.  The  law  has  solutions  for 
people  like  you  and  me." 

"  Do  you  want  to  divorce  me  ?  " 

"  The  experiment  has  not  worked  out  well.  That  you 
will  admit." 

"  What  is  there  between  you  and  Howard  Wentworth  ?  " 
he  demanded  suddenly. 

Her  eyes  flashed  fire.  Her  white  fingers  closed  for  a 
moment  tensely  on  a  little  ivory  paper-cutter  lying  on  her 
desk. 

"  That  is  a  question  I  do  not  feel  bound  to  answer." 

"  Ada,  why  can't  we  try  again !  " 

The  appeal  in  his  voice  was  sincere  and  poignant.  For 
a  moment  a  simulacrum  of  his  old  fascinating,  elusive 
self  returned  to  her,  with  a  vision  of  what  she  had  once 
believed  he  could  accomplish.  Did  he  realize  that  he  had 
lost  his  hold  on  her  by  setting  up  a  stall  in  the  money 
market  ? 

"  Will  you  give  up  that  senseless  stock  brokerage,  for 
which  you  are  about  as  well  fitted  as  an  eighteenth  century 
poet,  and  take  up  a  writer's  life  again  ?  " 

"  I'd  like  to,  but  I  can't." 

"  Why  not  ?  "     She  looked  moodily  at  him,  biting  the 


2QO  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

end  of  her  pen  with  her  small  white  teeth.  "  You  don't  feel 
these  days  that  you  can  settle  the  affairs  of  the  universe  ? " 
she  said  with  faint  satire. 

"  No !  Since  I  am  not  even  able  to  settle  my  own.  The 
most  I  can  promise  you,  is  that  you'll  never  see  me  again 
as  I  was  last  night." 

"  The  matter  is  closed  then." 

She  turned  from  him  to  the  desk.  For  a  moment  he 
stood  looking  at  her,  trying  to  revive  in  his  heart  a  van- 
ished Ada,  that  some  salvage  from  the  wreck  of  their 
married  life  might  even  yet  be  obtained.  But  nothing  stirred 
within  him.  He  might  have  been  looking  at  the  painted 
image  of  a  woman,  a  dainty  drawing  from  some  Paris 
atelier. 

He  went  from  her,  pondering  over  her  words.  That  she 
could  speak  so  calmly  of  divorce  told  him  much,  but  he 
shrank  from  the  idea.  To  give  the  spirit  to  the  law,  to 
hand  human  souls  to  the  judiciary  that  their  emotions  might 
be  judged,  had  always  seemed  to  him  farcical  in  the  extreme 
— an  inversion  of  the  proper  order.  What  could  the  law 
do  for  him  and  Ada?  Separate  them,  of  course,  but  what 
a  senseless  solution  for  two  human  beings — a  confession 
before  the  world  that  they  had  neither  the  grit  nor  the 
patience  nor  the  affection  to  work  out  their  problem.  Yet 
perhaps  it  was  better  than  this  lying  farce  of  a  marriage, 
this  sterile  bond,  this  union  founded  on  mutual  disrespect. 
If  he  were  free? 

The  image  of  Patricia  floated  towards  him,  the  woman 
who  all  night  long  had  been  the  center  of  his  feverish 
fancies.  Since  that  moment  when  she  had  clung  to  him, 
he  could  not  banish  her  from  his  thoughts.  He  hungered  for 
her,  wanted  her,  cried  out  to  her  from  the  starvation  of  both 
body  and  soul.  The  light  in  her  gray  eyes  moved  him  to 
some  overwhelming  answer.  Yet  she  had  put  him  from  her 
with  stiff  phrases,  with  the  gestures  of  renouncement. 

Knowing  her  intensely  religious  nature,  he  knew  that 
no  other  course  was  open  to  her.  They  must  never  meet 
again,  who  had  missed  happiness  through  his  own  blind 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  291 

folly.  He  revered  Patricia  too  much  to  tempt  her,  to  ask 
her  to  heal  his  wounds  by  surrender  to  their  passion. 

He  went  to  his  work  thinking  of  her,  and  returned 
home  thinking  of  her.  When  he  was  tired,  the  temptation 
was  very  great  to  allow  to  his  thoughts  what  could  not  be 
permitted  to  his  actions.  As  he  sat  on  the  ferryboat, 
weary  from  the  day's  work,  from  the  long  hours  of  sultry 
heat,  his  imagination  played  about  the  forbidden.  He  had 
entered  St.  Anthony's  cave  without  St.  Anthony's  armor. 

That  night  Ada  was  giving  a  dinner.  She  had  up  the 
choicest  wines  from  the  cellar.  Jack  watched  his  nephew 
anxiously,  but  was  gratified  to  see  him  drink  only  water. 
Ada,  too,  watched  him.  A  feeling  of  disappointment  pos- 
sessed her  that  Neal  kept  his  word  absolutely.  His  virtues 
could  be  in  future  of  no  possible  use  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE  days  of  summer  slipped  by,  each  bringing  to 
Patricia  perplexity  and  struggle.  Before  the  scene  in  the 
mill  she  had  been  able  to  control  her  thoughts,  but  since 
her  confession  of  her  love  Neal  accompanied  her  through  all 
her  waking  activities  and  even  stole  into  her  dreams  with 
persistent  appeal.  She  knew  herself  a  sinner  because  in 
those  shadowy  meetings  her  arms  would  not  push  him 
away  but  drew  him  to  her  heart  instead.  Patricia  bul- 
warked herself  with  the  thought  that  they  should  never 
meet  again  except  in  the  safety  of  a  crowd,  and  when, 
perhaps,  she  would  be  the  wife  of  Thomas  Murphy.  But 
some  fatality  of  circumstance  seemed  to  be  in  league  with 
her  true  desires.  The  laying  on  of  the  water  for  the  new 
house  was  unexpectedly  delayed,  and  the  marriage  was 
postponed  until  fall. 

One  sultry  day  in  July  a  message  reached  her  to  go  to 
a  small  village  in  a  remote  quarter  of  the  Island,  to  the 
aid  of  a  family  one  of  whose  members  was  ill  with  typhoid 
fever.  While  she  was  packing  her  satchel  her  mother  came 
into  the  room  with  a  manner  half- worried,  half- resentful. 
Patricia  seemed  to  her  in  no  state  to  undertake  heavy  nurs- 
ing through  the  hot  weather. 

"  I'm  not  carrying  much,"  her  daughter  explained.  "  If 
I'm  in  for  a  siege  Tom  can  bring  me  over  things." 

"  Don't  take  the  case  if  you  can  help  it.  You  look 
fagged  out  these  days.  I  hate  to  think  of  you  in  stuffy 
rooms.  How  are  you  going  over  ?  " 

"  In  the  trolley,  as  far  as  I  can.  Maybe  some  farmer 
will  give  me  a  lift  after  that." 

"  Why  didn't  you  telephone  Tom  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  want  to  take  him  from  the  office." 

"As  if  he  wouldn't  be  overjoyed!" 

292 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  293 

Her  mother  didn't  understand  Patricia  now,  who  seemed 
to  be  always  avoiding  the  man  she  had  promised  to  marry — 
strange  proceeding  on  the  part  of  an  engaged  girl !  Mrs. 
McCoy  had  pondered  the  problem  through  many  a  wakeful 
night,  but  dared  not  accept  the  solution  which  most  fre- 
quently presented  itself,  a  solution  fitting  in  well  with 
Patricia's  tired  and  abstracted  manner. 

The  journey  to  Grandville  was  a  tedious  one.  The 
trolley  bumped  along  over  stretches  of  hot  road  which  now 
and  again  passed  between  rows  of  cheap  frame  houses, 
whose  shabby  gardens  drooped  under  the  glare  of  a  July 
sun.  A  smell  of  dust  and  baked  grass  was  in  the  lifeless 
air.  The  occasional  glimpses  of  the  sea  showed  it  leaden- 
colored.  Along  the  horizon  was  a  thick  heat-haze. 

"  There'll  be  a  thunder-storm  this  evening,"  Patricia  re- 
flected. 

At  the  trolley  terminus  a  dejected  wagonette  was  wait- 
ing, the  stage  to  Grandville,  in  which  she  took  her  place 
in  company  with  the  mother  of  two  restless  children.  The 
driver,  plucking  out  a  wisp  of  a  whip,  clucked  to  the 
bony  horse,  which  immediately  set  off  with  creditable  brisk- 
ness of  pace,  considering  the  heat  of  the  day.  The  white, 
staring  road  ran  between  marshes.  In  the  distance  sails 
appeared — the  sails  of  boats  motionless  or  drifting  with 
the  tide.  High  against  the  inflamed  sky  two  tall  chimneys 
rose,  with  black  smoke  issuing  from  their  mouths.  Dis- 
cernible near  their  bases  were  huddled  houses — the  ap- 
portionment of  dwellings  inappropriately  called  Grandville. 

"  Warm  day,"  the  mother  of  the  two  children  said  sym- 
pathetically. 

"  Very  warm,"  Patricia  answered.  Then  she  added, 
"  Do  you  know  a  family  called  Henley  ?  " 

"  They  live  two  doors  from  us.  Somebody's  sick  there, 
they  say." 

"Yes,  I  was  telephoned  for.  What  kind  of  a  place  is 
Grandville?" 

"  Nothing  much  there  but  the  works.  My  husband's  a 
foreman,"  she  added  with  a  touch  of  pride. 


294  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

They  passed  a  cross-road  which  cut  across  the  marshes 
in  the  direction  of  the  hills. 

"  Where  does  that  go  ?  "  Patricia  inquired. 

"  Over  Summit  way." 

"  It  must  come  out  near  St.  Anne's  Church,"  Patricia 
commented. 

By  this  time  they  had  entered  the  one  long  street  of 
Grandville,  which,  as  an  embodiment  of  the  town's  only 
excuse  for  existence,  led  straight  to  the  works.  The 
village  looked  poverty-stricken  and  dejected.  In  the  heart 
of  it  lay  a  small  burying-ground,  the  stones  awry,  the  paths 
full  of  weeds.  Dogs  lay  stretched  on  the  sidewalks  in  the 
sunshine,  too  oppressed  even  to  snap  at  the  flies  which 
buzzed  about  them.  In  the  open  sewers  stagnant  water, 
glazed  with  scum,  steamed  menacingly.  Patricia's  heart 
sank.  No  courage  was  left  in  her  to  face  such  conditions. 

The  stage  deposited  the  mother  and  her  children;  and 
drew  up  next  before  a  shabby  shell  of  a  house,  its  front 
yard  an  expanse  of  baked  mud  on  which  a  circle  of  clam 
shells  protected  some  nondescript  foliage.  A  few  hens 
were  pecking,  half-heartedly,  at  the  uncompromising  soil. 

A  woman  came  to  the  door  to  meet  her.  She  had  a 
narrow  face  and  a  high,  bony  forehead  from  which  the  hair 
was  pulled  tightly  back.  Behind  her  was  a  cluttered  room. 
A  smell  of  cooking  mingled  with  the  odor  of  disinfectants. 

"You're  Miss  McCoy?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Sorry,  but  one  of  the  Borough  nurses  is  here — sorry 
you  had  your  long  trip  for  nothing." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  Patricia  murmured.  "  I'd  just  as 
soon  not  have  the  case." 

"  Won't  you  come  in  ?  " 

"  I'll  rest  awhile.    May  I  have  a  glass  of  water  ?  " 

The  water  might  be  unfit  to  drink,  but  her  thirst  was 
extreme.  She  seated  herself  in  the  rocking-chair  the 
woman  pushed  towards  her,  and  looked  about  the  dirty 
room.  The  remains  of  breakfast  were  still  on  the  table 
though  dinner  was  cooking.  Flies  buzzed  over  the  greasy 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  295 

oilcloth  that  showed  between  the  heaps  of  dishes.  On  the 
settle,  near  the  open  window,  was  an  amorphous  bundle 
of  gray  blanket  ends.  A  wail  proceeding  from  it,  Patricia 
tiptoed  over  and  descried  a  very  young  baby  sparring  at 
the  heat  and  the  flies  with  ineffectual  fists.  By  this  time  the 
mother  had  returned  with  the  water. 

"  It's  my  brother  who's  down  with  the  fever,"  she  ex- 
plained in  a  lifeless  voice.  "  He  boards  with  us." 

"  I'll  wash  the  baby  before  I  go,  if  you'll  give  me  an 
apron,"  Patricia  said. 

"Oh,  I  wish  you  would;  I'm  just  tuckered  out.  I  was 
up  all  night  with  Sam." 

Patricia  proceeded  to  wash  the  baby.  A  cool  vision 
passed  through  the  room,  the  Borough  nurse  in  spotless 
white.  She  nodded  with  professional  approbation  at 
Patricia's  ministrations. 

"  How  are  you  going  home  ?  "  the  woman  asked,  when 
Patricia  had  finished  her  task. 

"  I  think  I'll  take  the  stage  to  the  cross-road  over  the 
marshes,  and  then  walk.  I  have  a  friend  living  near  the 
end  of  that  road;  I  could  stop  with  her  for  the  night." 

The  stage  was  hailed  and  she  departed,  with  relief,  from 
the  miserable  house.  Even  to  trudge  through  the  burning 
sunshine  was  preferable  to  its  confusions.  The  heat  and 
humidity  were  increasing,  but  relief  was  promised  by  a 
dark  bank  of  clouds  along  the  western  horizon. 

"Do  you  think  it  will  storm  before  evening?"  Patricia 
asked  the  driver. 

He  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "  That  same  bank  of 
clouds  has  come  up  same  time  every  day  for  the  last  four 
days,  and  nothin'  happened." 

"  Then  I  think  I'll  walk  across  the  marshes." 

"  Pretty  hot  for  walkin'." 

"  I  can  take  my  time,"  she  said. 

The  stage  deposited  her  at  the  cross-roads,  and  drove 
off  in  a  cloud  of  white  dust,  leaving  her  gazing  after  it, 
half  regretfully.  She  had  not  realized  how  intense  the  heat 
was.  The  sea-marshes  all  about  her  threw  up  a  brackish 


2g6  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

steam  of  vapor  from  the  mud  and  ooze.  The  sun  beat 
down  with  stinging  vertical  rays.  Not  a  breeze  stirred. 
Nothing  moved  in  the  landscape  except  the  black  smoke 
from  the  tall  chimneys  of  the  factory.  Even  the  insects 
were  silent. 

Very  slowly  she  walked  along,  for  the  stretch  of  white 
road  before  her  called  for  the  conservation  of  her  strength. 
Her  legs  felt  tottery;  she  wondered  once  or  twice  if  she 
were  going  to  faint. 

But  she  toiled  along,  reaching  at  last  the  other  side  of 
the  marshes  and  the  shelter  of  some  giant  willows.  From 
now  on  the  road  would  begin  its  ascent,  at  first  gentle,  then 
steep,  but  where  it  was  steepest  were  woods.  She  would  be 
out  of  the  sun  at  least. 

So  she  pushed  on,  for  an  ominous  mutter  had  roused 
her  from  the  lethargy  of  fatigue.  Thinking  how  cool  and 
quiet  and  refreshing  her  room  at  the  farm  would  be,  she 
was  glad  now  she  had  taken  this  road  instead  of  returning 
by  the  trolley  through  long  unlovely  stretches  of  the  Island. 

She  passed  few  houses,  then  the  road  became  quite 
lonely.  Patricia  remembered  she  had  been  over  it  once 
before,  a  long  time  ago. 

The  air  was  very  still.  The  sun  had  gone  behind  the 
bank  of  clouds.  A  queer  grayish-yellow  twilight  reigned. 
The  storm  was  probably  coming  at  last,  but  she  didn't  care. 
She  had  no  fear  of  thunder-storms ;  a  drenching  would 
refresh  her,  for  her  skin  felt  parched  and  dry. 

Halfway  up  the  hill  she  looked  back.  A  tenebrous 
spell  held  the  landscape.  One  watery  gleam  of  sunshine 
struck  across  the  marshes,  making  a  vivid  green  path  of 
vitreous  quality.  In  the  far  distance  willows  were  bending. 
A  low  moaning  sound  reached  her  ears,  commingled  of 
many  aerial  whispers  through  sedge  and  reeds  and  dry 
foliage.  Puffs  of  dust  rose  smoke-like  from  the  road. 

In  the  distance  she  saw  what  appeared  to  be  a  deserted 
farm-house,  standing  amidst  tall  trees  whose  upper  limbs 
were  tossed  by  a  furious  draught  from  the  oven-heated 
landscape.  She  thought  she  might  reach  this  house  before 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  297 

the  rain  fell  and  she  began  to  run  before  the  approaching 
storm.  Lightning  was  gleaming  now  and  spreading  in 
transparent  sheets  of  reddish  light  over  the  fields.  A 
drop  like  the  fall  of  a  metal  disc  in  the  dust  of  the  road 
heralded  the  rain.  The  storm  was  about  to  break. 

Pushing  through  the  gateway  of  the  yard  she  arrived 
panting  at  the  little  porch,  then  realized  with  a  shock  that 
she  had  not  been  the  first  to  seek  shelter  there.  Neal  Car- 
michael  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  in  riding  clothes,  his 
face  chalk-white  against  the  darkness  of  the  room  behind 
him.  For  a  moment  he  gazed  at  her  as  if  the  ministrants 
of  his  dreams  had  brought  him  to  her,  out  of  the  wild 
wreck  of  sky  behind  her  white,  transfigured  face.  Then 
he  called  her  name,  and  she  answered,  amazed,  trembling, 
overjoyed,  yet  shrinking  back  as  he  held  out  his  hand. 
What  destiny  compounded  in  dark  preceding  ages  had 
brought  them  perilously  together  in  this  lonely  spot?  Joy 
alternating  with  fear  racked  her  like  physical  pain.  She 
stood  in  amazement,  as  if  he  had  been  an  image  evoked 
by  the  necromancy  of  thunder. 

"  I  was  riding,"  Neal  explained.  "  I  lamed  my  horse 
just  as  the  storm  came.  And  you?  " 

"  I  walked  from  Grandville." 

"In  all  this  heat?" 

The  rain  was  coming  down  in  furious  torrents  which 
penetrated  the  worn  roof  of  the  narrow  porch. 

"  Better  come  inside,"  he  said. 

His  hand  on  her  arm  drew  her  within.  The  wave  of  re- 
sponse to  his  touch  blinding  and  overpowering  her,  she 
followed  him,  conscious  now  only  of  their  being  together, 
shut  in  by  the  tempest  and  curtained  from  the  world.  A 
silence  fell  between  them,  heavy  as  death,  the  silence  at- 
tendant upon  an  irresistible  longing,  weighing  them  down 
with  more  than  the  storm's  pressure  of  black  magnetic 
cloud.  They  scarcely  dared  to  breathe.  Neal  closed  the 
door  softly  and  came  back  to  her. 

Patricia  looked  furtively  about  her.  Through  the  gloom, 
now  almost  of  midnight  thickness,  she  distinguished  a 


298  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

rickety  chair,  a  long  settle,  some  fragments  of  china  on  a 
shelf.  The  oppressive  air  held  a  curious  blended  odor  of 
hay  and  mold. 

The  storm  pressed  closer.  The  wind  screamed  through 
the  trees  like  a  tormented  spirit.  By  the  flashes  of  light- 
ning they  gazed  upon  each  other's  white,  apprehensive  faces. 

A  crash  of  thunder  shook  the  house.  In  the  same  instant 
the  space  between  them  was  crossed  and  they  were  clinging 
to  each  other  with  groping  hands  and  lips,  with  the  gestures 
of  those  who  drown  together,  rather  than  draw  apart. 
She  had  the  sensation,  though  he  said  nothing,  that  Life 
itself  was  imploring  her,  calling  her,  drawing  all  the 
strength  from  her  limbs,  wooing  her  into  passivity,  into 
rapture,  into  tranced  submission.  One  pulse  controlled 
them,  darkened  their  eyes. 

Patricia  thought  she  had  been  floating  through  space  for 
a  period  beyond  mortal  brain  to  measure.  From  ecstasy 
which  was  also  unthinkable,  unbelievable  pain,  her  spirit 
slowly  came  back.  Neal  was  kneeling  beside  her,  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands.  Full  realization  returning  at  last, 
she  wished  she  had  died  with  the  dying  storm.  In  her 
brain  was  the  lucidity  which  is  the  severest  torture  that 
can  follow  a  moment  of  madness.  And  this  had  happened 
to  her! 

The  wind  had  fallen.  The  rain  was  nearly  over.  Streaks 
of  light  were  in  the  west?  The  earth  was  washed  clean — 
but  she? 

Horror  descended  upon  her.  Blind,  mad  horror  of  her- 
self, of  what  had  happened !  She  wanted  to  run  out  of 
that  door,  to  run  till  she  fell  exhausted,  till  she  died  of 
exhaustion.  But  he  was  barring  the  way  now,  and  in  his 
face,  as  in  a  mirror,  she  saw  her  own  anguish  reflected. 

"  Patricia ! " 

"  Oh,  God !  "  she  moaned.    "  Let  me  out !    Let  me  go !  " 

"Where?" 

His  voice,  guilty,  sepulchral,  shaken  with  remorse, 
reached  her  as  from  a  great  distance.  Suddenly  they  were 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  299 

calm,  facing  each  other  in  a  dreadful  banality,  a  tawdry 
emptiness.  The  desolate  room  had  witnessed  too  much. 
They  stepped  outside  together,  horridly  at  ease  with  each 
other.  She  began  to  walk  up  the  road.  He  walked  with 
her,  their  feet  dragging  heavily  through  mud,  through 
water,  through  more  mud.  He  was  afraid  she  was  going 
to  faint. 

She  stopped  abruptly.    "  The  horse  ?  " 

He  nodded,  and  returned  to  the  stable.  She  waited  for 
him,  staring  intently  at  nothing.  Once  or  twice  she  looked 
down  at  her  skirt,  pulled  it  a  little,  opening  and  shutting 
her  lips. 

He  came  along  with  the  limping  horse,  and  they  set  off 
again.  The  top  of  the  hill  was  soon  reached.  Neal's  lips 
v/ere  shut  in  grim  silence.  He  felt  unfit  to  speak  to  her, 
to  look  at  her.  A  vision  of  the  unequal  sentence  imposed 
upon  mutual  passion  was  beginning  to  beat  upon  his  mind. 

They  trudged  on.  The  woods  opened.  Before  them 
stretched  a  valley.  They  saw  the  tide-water  channels,  the 
dark  bulk  of  the  old  mill,  the  slender  spire  of  St.  Anne's 
Church.  Then  he  spoke,  pointing  to  the  distant  farm- 
house. 

"  Can't  you  rest  there?  "  he  asked. 

"I?    Go  there?" 

Mortal  anguish  shook  her.  She  trembled  under  the  sense 
of  her  abasement.  Go  to  those  poor  things  to  whom  she 
had  been  preaching  amendment  of  life  and  triumph  over 
the  flesh ! 

He  saw  what  she  meant  and  groaned  out  of  his  misery. 
"  Oh,  Patricia,  can  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  I  was  with  you,"  she  answered  dully.  "  It  was  my 
fault,  too." 

"  Patricia,  where  are  you  going?  " 

She  paused,  a  frightened  look  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  can't  go  home,"  she  murmured. 

Nothing  was  too  intimate  to  tell  him  now.  The  supreme 
barrier  was  down. 

"  Patricia,  my  darling !  " 


300  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"Don't!" 

The  love  words  were  dreadful  to  her.  She  could  not 
bear  them. 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  I  don't  know !  I  don't  know !  I'll  go  back  to  that 
house  in  Grandville." 

He  looked  pitifully  at  her  face,  white  as  that  of  the  dead, 
at  her  hollow  eyes,  her  twitching  lips. 

"  You  need  a  nurse  yourself." 

The  misery  in  his  voice  stirred  her  for  a  moment. 

"  Don't  think  of  me,"  she  murmured ;  "  I'll  get  along." 

"  I'll  take  you  to  Grandville.  You  can  never  walk  there. 
The  horse  is  lame  and  he  can  get  lamer.  Nothing  matters 
—but  you !  " 

She  nodded.  He  lifted  her  into  the  saddle,  turned  the 
beast's  head  westward,  spoke  to  him  coaxingly.  The  poor 
creature  stumbled  onward  in  the  direction  he  was  led.  They 
had  to  pass  the  deserted  house.  Both  averted  their  eyes 
from  it  and  gazed  ahead  of  them  at  the  glowing  western 
sky. 

"  If  you  can  get  me  across  the  marsh,  I  can  wait  by  the 
road  for  the  stage,"  she  said  in  a  faint  voice. 

They  crossed  the  marshes,  meeting  no  one.  Patricia 
looked  at  the  sunset,  looked  beyond  it,  into  inconceivable 
despair.  Occasionally  Neal  put  out  a  hand  to  steady  her. 
She  shrank  from  his  touch. 

He  put  her  down  at  the  cross-roads. 

"  Leave  me  now,"  she  whispered. 

He  gazed  at  her,  misery  too  poignant  for  speech  in  the 
long  farewell  look.  He  turned  the  horse's  head  to  go  back 
over  the  dreadful  road, — to  pass  that  house  again! 

He  went  a  few  paces,  returned. 

"  Patricia,"  he  said,  peering  into  her  face,  his  voice 
shaking,  "  promise  me,  for  God's  sake,  if " 

She  nodded  dully,  whether  in  assent  or  negation  nothing 
in  her  eyes  told  him.  He  took  the  horse's  bridle  again 
and  went  slowly  away  from  her.  She  saw  him  for  a  long 
time.  The  horse  was  limping  badly.  Sometimes  the  animal 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  301 

stumbled,  sometimes  the  man.  Their  figures,  dark  against 
the  wide  sunset  light  over  the  marshes,  moved  slowly,  very 
slowly,  but  the  wood  at  last  swallowed  them  up. 

The  stage  again  received  her,  deposited  her  at  the  for- 
lorn door.  The  Borough  nurse  answered  her  message  in 
person. 

"  I  call  this  a  direct  reply  to  prayer,"  she  said  briskly. 
"  I  was  just  going  to  telephone  that  I'd  have  to  have  help 
after  all.  It's  a  bad  case.  You  look  tuckered  out  with 
the  heat.  I  don't  wonder.  You  were  a  sport  to  come 
back!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THE  Borough  nurse  had  been  listening  to  delirium  for 
six  long,  stuffy  hours,  delirium  of  a  singularly  monotonous 
sort,  quite  in  character  with  the  spirit  of  Grandville  itself — 
if  a  village  so  controlled  by  the  "  Works  "  on  the  muddy 
banks  of  the  Kill  could  be  said  to  possess  spirit.  She  was 
tired,  but  she  knew  that  Patricia  must  be  even  more 
fatigued;  for  Patricia  had  owned  up  to  wakefulness  when 
off  duty,  and  when  on  duty  she  seemed  possessed  with 
feverish  energy.  Even  her  excursions  into  the  forlorn 
streets  of  Grandville  for  a  breath  of  air  generally  ended  in 
unnecessary  expenditure  of  force  Her  team-mate  had 
found  her  one  day  weeding  the  horrid  little  burial-ground, 
half  a  score  of  sallow  children  helping  her.  Patricia's  ex- 
pression had  puzzled  the  Borough  nurse  on  that  occasion, 
for  she  appeared  as  if  she  had  set  in  motion  something  of 
which  she  then  became  quite  unconscious,  bending  over 
graves  and  pulling  at  weeds  with  the  fatalistic  hands  of 
some  mythological  figure;  the  children  about  her  like  a 
puny  race  from  some  forgotten  cosmos. 

Cordelia  Ward  had  grown  very  fond  of  her  alternate, 
aside  from  admiring  the  skill  of  her  ministrations  and  the 
fidelity  of  her  service,  but  she  was  puzzled  by  this  girl's 
lack  of  response  to  anything  about  her. 

A  hot  summer  grew  hotter.  Patricia  went  through  her 
days  and  nights  without  comment  or  complaint.  Her 
fellow-nurse  was  thoroughly  astonished  when,  through  the 
apparition  of  a  prosperous  young  Irishman  in  a  touring- 
car,  with  an  offering  of  a  big  basket  of  fruit,  a  case  of 
Apollinaris,  and  a  bundle  of  new  magazines,  she  was  first 
made  aware  that  Patricia  was  engaged  to  be  married.  If 
this  were  true,  why  did  she  look  as  if  even  the  announce- 
ment of  the  judgment  day  would  fail  to  move  her?  There 

302 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  303 

were  times  when  her  features  appeared  to  be  carved  in 
marble.  About  her  was  none  of  the  mobility  or  spon- 
taneity of  a  happy  woman. 

The  hour  to  awake  Patricia,  if  that  ceremony  would 
really  be  necessary,  had  come.  The  two  nurses  shared  a 
room  on  the  ground  floor  which  they  had  scrubbed  and 
emptied  of  everything  but  cots,  a  washstand  and  a  small 
mirror  that  made  their  gray  faces  look  even  grayer. 

When  the  nurse  entered  the  room  Patricia,  in  a  spotless 
uniform,  was  seated  by  the  open  window,  her  eyes,  with 
rings  of  fatigue  about  them,  staring  apparently  at  nothing. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  up?  Did  you  go  to  bed  at 
all  ?  "  Miss  Ward  asked  sternly. 

"I  couldn't  sleep.     It  was  too  hot.     How  is  he?" 

"  Still  babbling.     He'll  either  die,  or  we  shall." 

"Oh,  no!  We  won't  die,"  Patricia  said,  as  if  regretting 
that  they  would  not.  She  rose  to  leave  the  room,  but  the 
nurse  blocked  the  way. 

"  Miss  McCoy,  what's  the  matter?" 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  Patricia  echoed.     "  Nothing." 

"  Don't  lie  to  me,"  Cordelia  Ward  said  warmly. 

She  attempted  to  slip  her  arm  about  Patricia's  waist, 
but  Patricia  shrank  away.  The  other  woman  looked  at  her 
wistfully.  "  You  don't  like  me,  after  all." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  I  do  indeed.  Don't  mind  me.  Please  don't 
watch  me.  I'm  never  a  good  sleeper." 

The  distress  in  her  voice  seemed  out  of  all  proportion 
to  the  incident  of  this  little  encounter  between  them.  Miss 
Ward  began  to  take  the  pins  out  of  her  sleeves.  She 
glanced  at  the  sky,  already  white  with  heat-haze. 

"  We're  in  for  another  scorcher.  Thank  God  for  the 
green  shades  and  the  screens.  That  man  of  yours  thinks 
of  everything." 

"  Yes,  he's  thoughtful,"  Patricia  said. 

Miss  Ward  looked  at  her  curiously  but  held  her  peace. 

Patricia  entered  the  sick  room  with  the  only  sense  of 
satisfaction  the  days  ever  brought  her,  that  for  twelve  hours 
she  would  be  steadily  occupied.  Her  patient,  turning  and 


304  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

twisting,  his  eyes  filled  with  the  darkness  of  fever,  ex- 
pressed to  her  a  means  of  escape  from  her  thoughts — from 
her  appalling  thoughts.  But  to-day,  with  her  best  efforts, 
she  could  not  stifle  memory. 

Neal  was  at  once  less  to  her  than  he  had  ever  been, 
and  more;  but  he  appeared  to  her  utterly  divested  of  the 
cloak  of  romance,  an  embodiment  of  actuality,  a  symbol 
of  excoriating  fact,  a  link  of  passionate  significance  with 
dark  confusions,  with  a  world  emptied  of  all  recognizable 
features. 

Patricia  knew  that  her  naming  was  yet  to  take  place,  that 
out  of  the  tumult  of  her  thoughts  must  come  at  last  the 
distinct  word  defining  her,  placing  her  forever  in  a  new 
category.  She  thought  at  times  of  the  men  and  women  of 
the  city's  streets,  with  whom  she  had  held  lengthy  argu- 
ments for  the  salvation  of  their  souls;  of  the  girls  she  had 
chided,  enforcing  their  return  to  the  lonely  struggles  of 
clean  living. 

In  her  dazed  state  she  thought  little  of  her  future  plan 
of  action,  not  even  of  the  time  when  she  must  tell  poor 
Tom  that  marriage  between  them  had  become  forever  im- 
possible, nor  of  the  time  when  she  must  confess  to  the 
Church  that  she  had  sinned  mortally.  She  wondered 
vaguely  sometimes  of  what  use  absolution  would  be  to  her, 
since  it  could  not  restore  to  her  the  soul  of  a  maid.  She 
was  a  new  person,  a  creature  unrecognizable  as  Patricia 
McCoy  of  an  earlier  day. 

She  did  not  say  her  prayers  or  tell  her  beads,  because 
she  was  not  sure  of  the  rights  of  this  new  creature.  Her 
sense  of  transformation  was  so  keen  that  at  times  she 
wondered  that  she  still  retained  the  memory  of  how  to 
administer  medicines  and  how  to  change  a  bed. 

From  Neal  she  did  not  hear,  nor  did  she  expect  to.  The 
separation  had  become  automatic;  the  extreme  logic  of  the 
will  to  possess,  which,  through  subtle  paradox,  changes 
inevitably  to  the  necessity  of  relinquishment.  To  climax 
her  happiness,  she  had  lost  it. 

The  hot  day,  so  like  all  others  preceding,  wore  along. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  305 

The  sick  man  tossed  and  muttered,  the  flies  buzzed  against 
the  screens.  Downstairs  the  children  quarreled  and  cried. 
Odors  of  greasy  cooking  floated  into  the  room.  Once  Mrs. 
Henley  looked  in  with  a  wan  smile. 

"  I  hope  you're  savin'  him,"  she  said.  "  Sam's  been  a 
good  brother  to  me  since  Zeck  died;  said  he'd  stick  by  me 
till  the  children  were  raised." 

"  We'll  save  him,"  Patricia  said.    "  Don't  worry." 

The  woman  hesitated.  She  stood  more  in  awe  of  Miss 
McCoy  than  of  Miss  Ward,  yet  she  was  moved  and  held 
by  her,  wanted  to  understand  her. 

"  You  don't  let  people  die,  do  you  ?  " 

Patricia  smiled.  "  Not  as  long  as  I  have  an  ounce  of 
strength  to  fight  for  them." 

"  You're  awful  strong,  but  so  gentle !  I  can't  bathe  baby 
as  you  do;  I've  watched  you.  Well,  you'll  have  babies  of 
your  own  some  day !  " 

Patricia  bent  over  the  bed  to  hide  her  face. 


CHAPTER  XL 

NEAL  sat  in  the  study  of  St.  Anne's  rectory  awaiting 
Divine's  return  from  a  ministerial  errand.  It  was  early 
in  September  and  summer  still  lingered  with  a  persistent 
sultry  air,  thunder-laden,  which  enveloped  Neal  as  a  con- 
science, a  memory,  a  physical  continuation  and  reminder 
of  a  July  hour. 

He  lived  with  one  dominant  hope,  that  Patricia  would 
not  make  a  tragedy  of  a  matter  in  which  a  diabolical  accident 
of  solitude  and  opportunity  had,  like  the  personifications  of  a 
mystery  play,  assisted  too  well  in  the  undoing  of  the  chief 
actors.  This  concern  for  Patricia  was  like  a  perpetual 
sword  in  his  breast,  for  he  knew  her  temperament,  the 
intensity  of  her  emotions,  the  depth  of  her  religious  con- 
victions. She  called  things  by  their  true  names,  made  no 
excuses  for  herself,  if  for  others.  And  they  who  cannot 
excuse  themselves  in  this  world  are  apprenticed  to  pain. 

Fear  attended  him  night  and  day,  fear  of  what  she  might 
do  to  protect  him,  to  shrive  herself ;  fear  of  something  else, 
something  more  material  which  could  not  be  hidden  like  the 
fires  of  conscience.  What  trouble  might  not  come  upon  her 
because  he,  after  the  manner  of  his  kind,  had  been  ruthless  ? 

He  dared  not  write  to  her.  Whatever  his  opinion  of 
these  dark  forces  which  set  people  groping  and  stumbling — 
and  it  was  astonishing  how  emptied  of  theories  he  was — he 
had  no  shadow  of  doubt  as  to  his  having  set  Patricia  and 
himself  in  defiance  to  the  social  order.  A  letter  had  become 
a  trap,  the  mails  a  sinister  risk,  names  and  dates  sly  emis- 
saries of  retribution.  Was  this  the  real  sin,  this  necessity 
to  skulk  and  hide,  this  play  of  pretense,  this  serving  of 
subterfuge  ? 

Sometimes  he  wondered  if  Ada  knew  or  suspected  any- 
thing. She  was  alarmingly  quiet  and  complaisant  these  days, 

306 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  307 

though  she  and  Wentworth  were  much  together;  and  by 
that  curious  law  which  out  of  the  customary  breeds  in- 
difference, Ada's  continued  coquetries  were  out-tiring  gossip. 
People  had  ceased  to  expect  defiance  of  the  social  order 
from  her  direction.  As  well  expect  a  hammer  from  a 
vanity-case !  Ada,  riding  and  dining  with  men,  was  simply 
looking  in  a  mirror  to  admire  herself;  and  her  circles 
ceased  to  be  interested  in  the  process. 

Neal  came  often  to  the  rectory  these  days,  since  Divine 
had  for  him  the  fascination  which  the  man  who  suspects 
wrongdoing  has  for  the  wrongdoer.  Whatever  Divine  had 
found  of  spiritual  certainty  in  a  mysterious  universe,  the 
processes  of  the  search  had  made  him  abnormally  clear- 
sighted. 

He  expressed  pleasure  at  seeing  Neal,  but  no  surprise. 
For  this  man  Divine  was  waiting  with  the  indomitable 
patience  of  one  who  knows  how  long  is  the  process  of  the 
soul's  unfoldment.  On  altars  both  visible  and  invisible  he 
had  prayed  for  the  soul  of  Neal  Carmichael  because  he 
loved  him,  and  knew  there  was  but  one  goal  for  such  as  he. 

"  Been  waiting  long  ?  "  Divine  asked. 

"  Not  very  long." 

"  How's  everything  ?  " 

"  How's  everything  with  you  ? "  Neal  parried.  He 
dreaded  questions  these  days,  as  a  dweller  in  a  lonely  house 
might  dread  a  face  peering  in  through  a  window. 

"  Very  well.    I'm  getting  my  grip  on  St.  Anne's." 

"  Rather  different  from  editing  The  Courier?  " 

"  No ;  the  two  things  have  many  points  in  common,  only 
the  news  I  get  these  days  isn't  through  print.  By  the  way, 
I'm  starting  a  mission  at  Grandville.  I  saw  Patricia  in  the 
street  there  yesterday." 

Neal,  off  his  guard,  gave  a  start  of  surprise,  paled,  then 
forced  himself  to  look  at  Divine. 

Divine  was  looking  at  him  with  an  air  of  saying,  "  You 
will  inevitably  come  to  me.  When  the  burden  presses 
harder  you  will  tell  me." 

Neal  longed  to  tell  him.    He  had  always  thought  of  the 


3o8  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

confessional  as  a  place  where  weak  souls  were  made 
weaker,  through  their  shifting  of  their  moral  judgments 
and  decisions  to  the  brain  and  will  of  another.  Now  some 
inkling  of  its  significance  reached  him.  Confession  might 
save  the  soul  from  a  kind  of  moral  gangrene,  might  unite 
it  again  to  its  kind.  Humanity  was,  after  all,  only  united 
through  its  efforts  towards  ennoblement.  Sin  was  the 
anti-social  force.  The  murderers,  the  adulterers,  the 
thieves,  ran  alone  through  the  night.  Neal  was  knowing 
loneliness. 

"  How  is — Patricia  ?  "  he  asked. 

Divine  moved  the  candles  a  little.  His  sensitive,  priestly 
face  was  shadowed  for  a  moment. 

"  She  looked  tired — ill.  She  tells  me  it's  a  stubborn 
case — relapses,  unexpected  crises,  death  out  for  quarry 
every  morning  between  three  and  five,  the  low  hours." 

"  Patricia's  a  wonderful  nurse,"   Neal  muttered. 

"  I  should  say  she  needs  rest.  Do  you — do  you  know 
if  she  intends  to  marry  soon?" 

"  I  know  nothing  of  her  plans,"  Neal  said,  averting  his 
eyes. 

"  How  is  your  grandfather  ?  "  Divine  asked,  to  change 
the  subject. 

"  Very  feeble  from  the  heat.  He  misses  Ceil,  I  think, 
but  she'll  be  back  in  another  six  months.  Jack  relieves  me  a 
good  deal  with  him.  I'm  tied  pretty  close  these  days." 

"And  Ada?" 

"  I  think  she  will  eventually  divorce  me,"  Neal  said 
quietly.  "After  all,  I  can't  blame  her.  She  has  spent  a 
lot  of  money  on  us,  and  we  don't  amuse  her." 

"  Poor  Ada !  "  Divine  commented.  "  Her  turn  will  come 
after  yours,  Neal." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  She's  too  intelligent  not  to  ask  why  of  this  universe 
some  day." 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  the  question  with  her — when  we  were 
married  first — but  I  had  to  give  it  up.  I  never  expect  to 
ask  it  now." 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  309 

"No?" 

"  I'd  get  no  answer  if  I  did,"  Neal  said  moodily. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure." 

"  We've  made  a  mess  of  our  lives  anyway,  but  I'm  the 
bigger  sinner;  she  never  made  any  pretenses." 

He  spoke  with  a  bitterness  that  drew  Divine's  eyes  again 
to  his  face.  What  had  happened?  Where  had  Neal  Car- 
michael  wandered  in  his  efforts  to  gain  happiness  ? 

"  It's  queer  about  women,"  Neal  went  on,  as  if  talking 
to  himself.  "  They  get  it  in  the  neck  one  way  or  another. 
They're  lucky  when  men  don't  care  for  them — yet  they 
hate  that  too,  I  suppose." 

"  The  trouble  is  most  of  us  can't  help  ourselves  when  it 
comes  to  the  emotions,"  Divine  commented ;  "  we  can  only 
keep  a  tight  rein." 

"  A  tight  rein !  "  Neal  echoed.  He  rose  and  began  to 
pace  up  and  down  the  study.  "  Well,  I've  no  right  to  keep 
even  a  loose  one  on  Ada.  If  she  wants  to  decamp  I  can't 
say  her  nay.  I  asked  her  the  other  day  to  wait  for  my 
grandfather  to  die  first,  it  can't  be  long;  I  don't  care  then 
what  becomes  of  Carmichael  House.  The  line  will  be  ex- 
tinct anyway  unless  Philip  has  children,  and  that  doesn't 
seem  likely." 

"  I'm  sorry  you  haven't  a  son." 

"  I  thank  God  I  shall  never  have  a  son !  What's  the 
use  of  bringing  children  into  this  miserable  world?" 

"  No  use  at  all — unless  they're  created  in  love." 

Neal  wanted  to  change  the  subject,  for  it  roused  the 
dread  that  was  never  long  absent  from  his  mind.  He  went 
to  the  window  and  peered  out.  As  he  stood  there  a  low 
rumble  of  thunder  broke  from  the  western  horizon. 

"  Another  storm !  How  many  we've  had — one  after 
another." 

Divine  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  "  There  were  only 
two  the  whole  of  July ;  only  two  in  August.  I  thought  we 
had  been  remarkably  free  from  them !  " 

"  Well,  I  must  be  off  before  this  one  breaks.  Good- 
night, Divine." 


3io  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Divine  gripped  his  hand.  "  Play  the  game  to  the  finish ! 
Remember  there  are  witnesses." 

"  If  I  only  knew  a  reason  for  playing  it.  If  you  know 
the  secret,  for  God's  sake  why  don't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  speak  until  you  are  ready  to  hear,"  Divine 
returned  quietly. 

Ada  and  Wentworth  were  seated  in  the  library  of  Car- 
michael  House,  which,  since  Philip's  marriage,  had  been 
used  by  the  family  for  informal  receiving.  Both  had  been 
silent  a  long  time.  These  silences  in  common  were  fre- 
quent with  them  of  late,  growing  out  of  the  completeness 
of  their  understanding.  Wentworth's  brief  married  life, 
which  had  been  neither  happy  nor  unhappy,  had  shown  him 
beyond  all  argument  that  there  was  only  one  woman  for 
whom  he  cared  completely.  Ada,  whatever  her  faults,  satis- 
fied him,  companioned  him  as  no  one  else  did.  He  liked 
her  cool,  unemotional  ways,  her  keen  mind,  her  ability  to 
manipulate  the  material  things  of  life,  without  being  domi- 
nated by  them,  as  were  most  Americans. 

He  broke  the  silence  at  last.  "  Are  you  going  to  give 
me  a  positive  answer  soon  ?  " 

Ada  blew  a  ring  of  cigarette  smoke  before  replying.  "  I 
shall  never  give  you  a  positive  answer  about  anything;  it 
isn't  my  way.  I'll  act  when  the  time  comes." 

"  And  when  will  the  clock  strike  ?  " 

"  I  rather  object  to  talking  divorce  in  this  house.  After 
all  I  am  still  Mrs.  Carmichael." 

"  Sometimes  I  think  you  still  care  for  Carmichael." 

Ada  smiled.  "  I  have  no  quarrel  with  him,  but  we  are 
temperamentally,  totally  incapable  of  understanding  each 
other." 

"  I  am  going  back  next  month,"  said  Wentworth.  "  Is 
there  any  possibility  of  your  visiting  your  uncle  this 
winter?" 

"  None." 

"  When  are  you  going  to  reward  me?  " 

"  I'm  waiting." 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  311 

"For  what?" 

"  Never  mind.  We  missed  each  other  once,  Howard ; 
each  tried  another  partner.  I  think  we  might  be  happy 
together — if  married  people  are  ever  happy,  which  I  doubt." 

A  figure  appeared  in  the  doorway,  erect  and  soldierly, 
but  with  an  air  of  hesitation  as  if  from  failing  eyesight.  It 
was  Alexander  Carmichael. 

"You  in  here,  Ada?" 

"  Yes." 

"Neal  with  you?" 

"  No ;  Sir  Howard  is  with  me." 

Wentworth  had  risen  and  was  advancing,  somewhat 
shamefacedly,  to  shake  hands,  for  he  liked  the  old  gentle- 
man. 

"  Did  you  want  anything,  Mr.  Carmichael  ?  " 

"  I  want  Neal  for  a  game  of  chess.  No  use  asking  Ada 
where  he  is;  she  never  knows." 

"  I'll  play  chess  with  you.  Will  you  excuse  me,  Mrs. 
Carmichael  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to,"  she  said  languidly.  "  Set  the 
chess  table  near  the  green  electrolier,  Briggs,"  she  directed 
the  footman  who  presently  answered  her  ring.  "  He  needs  a 
strong  light,"  she  explained  to  Wentworth. 

He  nodded,  the  ever-recurring  wonder  returning  to  him 
that  she  never  forgot  the  slightest  detail  that  affected  peo- 
ple's comfort.  She  might  hate  them,  but  even  if  she  killed 
them  she  would  see  that  they  died  at  ease  on  a  box- 
mattress  and  with  the  softest  of  down  coverings. 

She  sat  in  the  shadow  watching  Alexander  Carmichael 
and  the  man  who  was  to  be  some  day  her  second  husband. 
What  she  was  waiting  for  was  for  destiny  to  place,  as  it 
had  so  often  done,  the  cards  to  her  advantage.  Neal  must 
give  her  some  excuse  for  a  divorce  aside  from  the  inane 
reason  of  incompatibility — a  reason  so  universal  in  her 
opinion  as  to  be  pointless  in  particular  cases.  Since  nobody 
was  compatible  with  anybody,  why  make  a  lever  of  an 
inclusive  cipher? 

Neal  had  adhered  to  his  rigid  code  of  total  abstinence, 


3i2  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

so  there  was  no  danger  of  his  beating  her — little  danger, 
indeed,  even  if  he  had  followed  Bacchus.  The  Carmichaels 
remained  gentlemen  under  all  circumstances. 

And  women?  She  had  little  hope  in  that  quarter.  If 
Patricia  were  again  her  rival  nothing  could  come  of  it. 
A  woman  of  Patricia's  nature  suffered,  but  did  not  yield. 
She  would  remain  according  to  her  narrow  code,  virtuous, 
a  good  Catholic.  She  would  marry  Thomas  Murphy  and 
live  in  the  handsome  house  he  had  built  for  her,  as  lonely  as 
people  are  who  build  out  of  their  class  and  can  establish 
no  connection  with  their  environment. 

Ada  yawned  over  this  perspective  of  another's  dullness. 
Poor  Patricia!  It  would  have  been  just  as  well  if  Neal 
had  not  invited  her  to  his  party  long  years  ago. 

There  was  a  distant  mutter  of  thunder.  Ada  did  not 
like  thunder-storms.  They  were  the  only  phenomena  that 
ever  made  her  feel  helpless.  She  glanced  through  the 
window.  A  wild  moon  rode  high  amid  ragged  clouds,  the 
mass  of  thick  black  vapor  beneath,  threaded  at  times  with 
ripples  of  lightning.  There  was  a  louder  peal,  but  the 
two  men  at  the  chess-table  never  raised  their  heads  nor 
looked  around.  Chess-players  wouldn't  heed  the  Last 
Trump,  Ada  thought  contemptuously. 

The  darkness  outside  increased.  The  moon  was  swal- 
lowed up.  Lightning  ripped  open  scene  after  scene  of 
scurrying  rain,  bending  trees,  flying  leaves.  Shutters 
banged  and  Ada  could  hear  the  servants  running  about 
closing  windows,  but  for  some  reason  they  did  not  come 
to  the  library  to  put  down  the  shades.  Ashamed  of  be- 
traying nervousness,  she  sat  motionless  in  her  chair.  The 
two  men  at  the  chess-table  seemed  a  part  of  the  furniture 
of  the  room.  She  had  the  feeling  that  not  even  had  she 
shouted  could  she  arouse  them  from  their  trance  of  calcu- 
lation. 

The  storm  pressed  closer.  Carmichael  House  seemed  in 
the  saffron  center  of  it.  Crash  after  crash  splintered  about 
it.  Ada's  heart  was  thumping  violently. 

Suddenly  Neal  appeared  in  the  doorway.     In  all  her 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  313 

life  she  had  never  been  so  glad  to  see  him.  He  looked  at 
the  chess-players,  then  his  eyes  searched  the  shadows  for 
her.  He  knew  her  fear  of  storms. 

Crossing  the  room  he  took  her  hand  silently.  It  was 
ice  cold.  He  held  it  and  spoke  in  whispers  of  the  storm. 
She  nodded,  comforted.  Little  as  she  had  in  common  with 
her  husband,  a  kind  of  superstitious  feeling  possessed  her 
that  Neal's  very  idealism,  so  aggravating  in  daily  life,  was 
admirable  to  ward  off  thunderbolts. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE  Borough  nurse  was  packing  her  trunk  preparatory 
to  leaving  her  patient,  now  so  well  on  the  way  to  recovery 
that  only  one  attendant  was  required.  Patricia  had  volun- 
teered to  stay,  and  as  Miss  Ward  was  more  than  ready 
for  a  vacation  she  accepted  the  offer.  Yet  she  had  her 
doubts  that  Patricia  was  fit  even  for  convalescent  nursing, 
since  she  looked  pale  and  worn,  spoke  sometimes  of  head- 
ache, though  she  slept  better. 

The  door  of  the  room  opened,    Patricia  looked  in. 

"  I'm  going  down  to  the  Kill  for  a  breath  of  air,"  she 
announced.  "  He's  asleep.  I'll  be  back  before  you  go." 

"Don't  hurry!  I'll  join  you  to  say  good-by.  Greave's 
wharf?" 

"  Yes,  Greave's,"  Patricia  said  with  a  little  smile. 
Greave's  wharf  was  a  kind  of  joke  between  them,  since 
it  was  the  only  spot  in  Grandville  that  seemed  to  possess 
even  a  fragmentary  beauty,  being  a  wharf  so  old  and  so 
long  forgotten  that  wild  flowers  grew  among  its  timbers. 
On  its  extreme  edge  Patricia  and  Miss  Ward  were  accus- 
tomed to  sit  and  breathe  the  air,  and  watch  the  ships  go  by. 

To-day — a  day  in  late  September — the  air  was  chilly,  but 
to  Patricia  the  chill  was  grateful.  The  anguish  of  mind 
she  had  suffered  in  the  first  weeks  of  her  stay  at  Grand- 
ville had  passed  away,  leaving  her  too  apathetic  even  to 
apply  the  moral  lash.  Dread  of  the  future  and  of  what  the 
future  might  bring  forth  possessed  her  days  now  rather 
than  remorse  for  the  past. 

Seated  in  her  nurse's  costume  on  the  wharf,  Patricia 
had  become  a  familiar  figure  to  the  captains  and  crews  of 
passing  tugs;  and  as  some  of  them  knew  of  her  heroic 
fight  for  the  life  of  Sam  Grippen,  she  was  not  infrequently 
saluted  by  a  short  whistle  as  the  craft  swung  by.  To-day 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  315 

the  Kill  seemed  deserted  of  ships.  Its  broad,  muddy  waters 
flowed  exuberantly,  for  the  tide  was  in.  Their  lapping 
against  the  timbers  of  the  wharf  soothed  her  fatigue.  She 
could  even  have  moments  of  forgetfulness,  when  to  her 
subconscious  mind  she  was  again  the  Patricia  of  that  ex- 
traordinary engagement  with  Neal,  a  happy,  expectant  maid. 

Scene  after  scene  of  that  old  life  used  to  rise  before 
her — Polly's  death  and  Polly's  funeral  in  the  ancient 
church ;  the  silent,  grief-stricken  house,  in  which  she  had 
read  aloud  to  Alexander  Carmichael  and  to  his  daughter; 
her  walks  with  Neal  through  the  pretty  lanes  of  the  Island ; 
her  mystical  betrothal  to  him,  so  unreal,  so  vague,  so 
sweet;  the  brief  period  of  their  acknowledged  engagement 
and  the  efforts  of  his  family  to  make  her  one  of  them.  All 
so  long  ago,  so  far  away,  like  a  tale  from  a  forgotten  book. 

A  dizziness  came  over  her.  She  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  for  a  moment  to  see  if  she  might  conquer  the  weak- 
ness ;  then,  raising  her  head,  she  opened  her  eyes.  The  Kill 
seemed  swelling  up  to  meet  her. 

Somone  caught  her  about  the  waist.  "  Patricia,  what's 
the  matter?" 

She  looked  up  dully.    "  I  was  dizzy,"  she  said. 

"  Then  why  in  heaven's  name  do  you  risk  leaning  over 
the  edge  of  the  wharf?  It's  awfully  deep  down  there. 
Now,  see  here,  I  am  going  to  telephone  your  man  to  come 
for  you — and  I  will  go  straight  back  and  unpack  my  trunk." 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  I  will !  You  look  like  a  ghost — and  no  wonder,  con- 
sidering what  you've  gone  through." 

Patricia  wanted  to  protest,  but  the  thought  came  to  her 
that  if  she  went  home  now  it  would  be  easier  for  her  to 
leave  home,  as  she  would  have  to,  before  Christmas. 

"  Very  well,"  she  murmured. 

Miss  Ward  sat  down  on  a  fallen  timber  and  drew 
Patricia  down  beside  her.  Patricia  was  shivering. 

"Cold?" 

"  No,  dear." 

"Just  done  up?" 


316  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  Yes,  Cordelia." 

"  That's  right,  call  me  Cordelia.  I  want  to  say  something 
to  you.  Don't  get  huffy;  it  isn't  to  swear  eternal  friend- 
ship, it's  just  this — that  if  you  should  ever  need  me  I'd 
come  to  you  from  the  ends  of  the  earth." 

Patricia  made  no  answer,  but  at  last  the  shivering  ceased. 
She  sat  very  quietly  holding  Miss  Ward's  hand. 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  give  you  a  room  to  yourself, 
Pat,  dear,"  Mrs.  McCoy  said,  when  after  the  first  joyous 
reunion  with  the  family  Patricia  and  her  mother  had  gone 
a  little  aside  from  the  others  to  talk  of  practical  matters. 
"  Let  me  think.  Rose  might  go  in  with  Meg." 

"  She'll  have  to,  mother ;  I'm  worn  out ;  I  want  to  sleep 
and  sleep." 

"  You  poor  dear !  you  look  it.  I  wish  to  goodness  Tom 
had  tucked  you  away  safely  in  that  fine  house  he  has  for 
you.  You  wouldn't  be  wearing  yourself  out  over  day- 
laborers."  • 

"  Mother !  And,  besides,  I  saved  more  lives  than  one — I 
mean  Miss  Ward  and  I  together,  for  she  worked  just  as 
hard.  The  man  had  a  widowed  sister  dependent  on  him." 

Mrs.  McCoy  pursed  her  lips  deprecatingly.  "  You  stay 
home  until  you're  married  now." 

Patricia  gave  an  involuntary  start. 

"  Tom's  not  ready,"  she  said. 

Her  mother  looked  keenly  at  her.  "  You  act,  Pat,  some- 
times as  if  you  didn't  want  him.  Here  he  comes  now! 
He'll  tell  you  about  the  house." 

Tom  crossed  the  room  and  greeted  Patricia  quietly,  be- 
cause he  knew  she  disliked  much  demonstration.  The 
thought  passed  through  her  mind  that  something  was  re- 
fining this  man  of  the  people  out  of  his  old  moral  habili- 
ments into  a  newer  vesture.  His  speech  had  lost  its  boastful 
quality.  The  refinements  wrought  by  patience  and  per- 
sistence seemed  in  the  very  texture  of  his  flesh.  She  had 
wronged  him  grievously ;  she  would  have  to  hurt  him  more. 
Her  heart  sank  as  he  approached  her. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  317 

"  We  were  talking  about  the  house,  Tom,"  Mrs.  McCoy 
said  briskly.  "  Patricia  wants  to  know  when  she's  to  have  a 
home." 

Tom  frowned,  in  impatient  perplexity. 

"  Our  luck's  against  us,  Patricia.  Such  shilly-shallying 
I've  never  encountered.  I've  been  haunting  the  Borough 
Hall  to  hurry  those  fellows  up ! " 

"  Oh,  well,"  James  McCoy  put  in,  "  set  it  for  next 
Easter,  and  give  the  winter  a  chance  to  test  everything 
before  you  paper.  Fall's  a  bad  time  to  move  into  a  new 
house." 

Patricia  looked  wonderingly  at  her  father.  She  did  not 
know  that  he  had  missed  her  these  weeks  more  than  he 
cared  to  admit  even  to  himself;  her  absence  prefiguring  to 
him  the  time  when  she  would  leave  his  roof  forever.  In 
addition  to  this  anticipation  of  the  final  loss  of  her,  his 
pride  in  her  had  been  reawakened  by  the  reports  of  her 
achievements  at  Grandville,  which  had  reached  him  through 
more  than  one  'longshoreman. 

"  How  about  Easter,  dear  ?  "  Tom  said. 

She  nodded  mutely,  for  the  words  of  assent  seemed  like 
the  knife  of  a  traitor.  Long,  long  before  that  time  she  must 
be  in  hiding.  And  then  after  that  time?  Her  wearied 
brain  refused  to  travel  so  far.  Was  there  any  place  in  the 
world  for  an  unmarried  woman  with  a  child?  Better  that 
they  should  enter  eternity  together!  Only  there  too  was 
torment. 

"  Easter  it  is ! "  James  McCoy  said,  as  if  the  matter  was 
settled  to  everybody's  satisfaction. 

"  And  what  are  you  goin'  to  do  on  Easter  that's  so 
grand  ?  "  a  hearty  Irish  voice  was  heard  to  trumpet  from 
the  doorway.  Father  Carew  was  entering  the  room. 

"  I  heard  you  were  home,  Patricia,  me  dear.  Good  news 
travels  fast.  And  you've  saved  a  good  man's  life.  The 
Lord  save  yours !  " 

"  How  are  you,  Father  ?  " 

"  Fit  as  a  fiddle.  Is  it  that  you're  marryin'  come 
Easter?" 


3i8  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  That's  what  we've  settled  on,  Father,"  Tom  answered. 
"  The  house  has  held  us  up." 

"  I'll  marry  ye  both  in  the  octave  of  Easter,  if  ye  have 
to  camp  in  a  tent  afterwards.  Let's  see,  Easter  comes 
the  eighth  of  April.  How  about  Easter-choosday,  the  tenth  ? 
How  about  it  ?  Why,  lass !  " 

He  peered  at  Patricia,  his  eyes  wide  with  alarm  for 
he  could  see  the  color  ebb  from  her  face.  Her  mother 
was  the  first  to  understand  what  was  happening. 

"  Quick,  Jim,  she's  fainting !    Get  water !  " 

But  Patricia  was  struggling  back  to  consciousness  before 
the  water  came,  for  with  the  darkness  was  also  the  horrible 
fear  of  what  she  might  say  when  not  in  full  possession  of 
her  senses,  a  fear  which  bulwarked  her  from  the  final  sub- 
merging. 

"  I'm  better,"  she  said  weakly,  looking  at  the  pale  faces 
about  her. 

"  You'll  go  straight  to  bed  and  stay  there,"  Mrs.  McCoy 
said  indignantly.  "  You're  worn  to  a  frazzle  from  that 
wretched  case."  And  the  circle  around  Patricia  echoed 
the  verdict. 

"  'Tain't  like  her  to  faint,"  her  mother  declared  to  the 
others.  "  It  just  shows  how  she  had  been  pulled  down." 

Tom  pressed  her  hand.  "  You  do  as  your  mother  says, 
dear ;  you  stay  in  bed  a  week,  a  month  if  necessary." 

Patricia  was  only  too  glad  to  be  treated  as  an  invalid. 
Her  room  afforded  her  some  shelter  from  the  family.  Even 
her  mother  was  too  busy  to  come  to  her  much.  Rose  waited 
on  her  assiduously,  for  she  adored  Patricia.  Even  her 
hard-worked  brother  James  came  down  from  the  city  to  see 
her.  For  James,  Patricia  had  a  special  affection  born  of 
the  fact  that  long  ago  he  had  introduced  Neal  Carmichael 
to  her;  but  James  never  mentioned  his  name  now,  con- 
sidering him  perhaps  an  episode,  over  and  done  with,  in  his 
sister's  life. 

Dr.  Murphy,  puzzled  by  Patricia's  listlessness  and  ap- 
parent inability  to  gain  strength,  insisted  on  her  remain- 
ing in  her  room  through  the  month  of  October.  He  had 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  319 

never  felt  very  near  to  this  girl  who  was  to  marry  his 
son,  but  he  admired  and  respected  her.  Whether  or  not  she 
could  make  Tom  happy,  time  alone  would  tell. 

Patricia  was  content  to  lie  quiet,  though  there  were 
times  when  her  mental  anguish  seemed  to  propel  her  spirit 
on  long,  insufferable  journeys  whose  fatigue  was  felt  in  the 
quiescent  body.  To  keep  her  thoughts  clear  and  in  sequence 
was  difficult  to  her,  yet  clear  thinking  had  never  been  so 
necessary.  She  must  plan  a  campaign  more  strategic  than 
any  by  which  she  had  kept  death  at  bay  from  another 
sufferer.  She  must  prefigure  a  drama  to  its  last  details — 
setting,  actors  and  climax,  with  a  final  fading  of  the  scenes 
in  some  eternal  obliteration  of  her  own  identity.  For  what- 
ever she  suffered  or  might  suffer  her  family  must  not  be 
put  on  the  rack. 

It  never  occurred  to  her  to  apply  to  Neal  for  advice  or 
aid.  To  take  money  from  him  would  have  seemed  to  her 
only  degradation.  To  hold  the  situation  above  the  last, 
sordid  logic  she  must  pass  into  eternal  silence  and  oblivion. 
Two  ideas  dominated  her  uneasy  dreams  and  her  exigent 
waking  thoughts — to  save  the  child's  life  and  to  pass  her- 
self where  familiar  voices  could  not  reach  her. 

She  had  decided  that  she  must  go  to  Lil,  must  seek 
refuge  in  the  little  room  prepared  for  her.  What  hurt 
Patricia  most  was  her  fear  of  the  effect  of  her  downfall 
upon  those  two  natures  which  had  clung  to  her  as  the 
pledge  of  their  return  to  clean,  straight  ways;  who  had 
imbibed  from  her  all  they  knew  of  society's  mystic  tradi- 
tion of  a  higher  Providence.  Would  they  not  distrust 
either  her  sincerity  or  the  ability  of  the  God  she  worshiped 
tc  hold  her  in  His  keeping?  But  whatever  the  influence 
upon  them  of  this  revelation,  she  knew  they  would  be  faith- 
ful to  her,  would  hold  her  wishes  sacred. 

Sometimes  she  thought  of  Ada,  the  lawful  wife,  in  the 
great  house  on  the  hill — Ada  who  played  with  men's  emo- 
tions as  a  child  with  colored  balls.  Why  had  the  world 
decreed  such  forms  of  marriage  right,  while  stoning  exterior 
manifestations  of  sincere  emotion  ?  Patricia  questioned,  but 


320  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

rather  in  bewilderment  than  in  revolt.  By  temperament, 
by  training,  she  did  not  belong  to  the  modern  generation 
of  self-excusers,  or  to  those  who  sin  against  society  in  the 
name  of  temperament,  and  even  of  religion,  as  two  beings 
bound  mystically  from  the  beginning  of  time  under  laws 
and  rules  of  their  own.  No  such  cheap  and  tawdry  ex- 
cuses comforted  her,  yet  she  had  her  moments  of  confused 
interlocution,  when  she  addressed  the  very  cosmos  itself 
for  the  answers  that  are  never  given. 

Through  her  invalidism  she  could  avoid  the  confessional 
for  some  time  to  come,  its  peremptory  demand  upon  her 
being  indeed  not  due  until  the  holy  feast  of  Christmas. 
Before  then  she  would  be  gone. 

Early  in  November  word  was  brought  to  her  of  Uncle 
Shamus's  declining  health  and  of  his  continuous  desire  to 
see  her.  Weak  from  her  long  domiciling,  she  went  to  the 
Mariner's  Rest — a  rest  soon  to  be  his  profoundly,  as  she 
was  apprised  by  his  little  sunken  face  looking  feebly  at  hers 
from  his  pillow.  His  chirp  was  very  hollow,  his  tired  hands 
had  scarcely  strength  to  fondle  his  old  treasures,  the  ruby 
once  declared  spurious,  and  some  other  gewgaws  from 
strange  lands.  He  would  arrive  shortly  at  another  coast  on 
no  known  map,  be  greeted  by  the  Master  of  an  uncharted 
port. 

The  same  day  she  went  to  see  Lil,  who  received  Her  with 
delight,  gathered  her  into  warm  arms,  looked  at  her  with 
pleased,  anxious  eyes. 

"  Jim  and  I  have  been  so  worried.  We  was  afraid  you 
were  never  comin'  here  again." 

Patricia  drew  in  her  breath  with  a  little  sobbing  sound. 
"  I'm  coming  soon — I'm  coming  to  stay.  I'll  tell  you  be- 
fore I  go." 

Lil  accepted  these  announcements  with  her  usual  un- 
questioning faith.  Life  had  taken  from  her  the  normal 
instincts  of  interrogation.  Nothing  seemed  strange  to 
her.  She  petted  Patricia,  hovered  over  her,  gave  her  tea. 
Jim  came  in  to  shake  her  hand  and  to  speak  of  his 
cabbages. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  321 

When  the  twilight  was  falling  Patricia  asked  Lil  to  come 
out  of  doors  with  her  and  to  accompany  her  a  little  way 
through  the  orchard.  It  was  a  mild,  warm  evening  already 
lit  with  a  few  stars.  In  its  sinuous  channels  the  tide-water 
gave  back  an  engraving  of  the  sunset's  afterglow,  aspiring 
to  the  zenith  in  thin  rose  flames.  These  were  reflected  on 
Patricia's  features.  From  her  dark  eyes  another  sunset 
looked. 

"  Lil,"  she  whispered,  "  I've  something  dreadful  to  tell 
you." 

Putting  her  mouth  near  to  her  friend's  cheek,  she 
breathed  out  her  story  with  many  tragic  pauses,  which  in- 
dicated a  physical  inability  to  proceed.  Lil  could  feel  the 
violent  beating  of  her  heart;  and  already  Patricia  was 
holding  out  supplicating  hands,  which  the  woman  she  had 
befriended  caught,  kissed,  wept  over,  as  the  significance  of 
those  broken  sentences  suddenly  reached  her  like  the  trans- 
mission of  an  electric  shock. 

"  When  are  you  coming  ?  "  Lil  asked  after  a  while. 

"  Just  before  Christmas." 

Lil  asked  only  one  other  question,  was  she  to  tell  Jim  ? 

"Yes,  tell  him,"  said  Patricia.  "He'll  have  to  know 
sooner  or  later." 

"  Jim'll  fight  for  you  like  a  bulldog." 

Lil  s*tood  beneath  the  apple-trees  watching  Patricia's 
figure  until  the  twilight  received  it,  hid  it  from  her  eyes. 
Even  then  she  lingered,  desperately  planning  for  the  woman 
who  had  planned  so  much  for  her. 

Jim  looked  at  her  expectantly  when  she  entered  the 
sitting-room.  "  Miss  McCoy  doesn't  look  fit  to  be  out  of 
bed,"  he  said. 

"Jim,  can  you  keep  a  secret?" 

He  smiled  grimly.  "  Can  I  ?  You  remember  that  time 
when  I  was  cooped — an'  I  could  'a'  had  my  freedom  if  I'd 
squeal  on  Burnie  Mahone." 

"  You'll  pass !  What  do  you  think !  Miss  Patricia's 
gone  an'  got  married  private." 

She  told  the  lie  without  blinking.    Not  one  of  the  preda- 


322  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

tory  race  of  men,  not  even  her  own  husband,  should  ever 
know  the  truth  from  her  about  Patricia's  trouble. 

"  You  don't  say  so !  " 

"  I  do,  and  there's  a  child  comin',  an'  she  wants  to  keep 
her  marriage  private.  I've  offered  to  see  her  through." 

"  You  bet  we'll  see  her  through,"  Jim  said  fervently. 
"  It's  a  lucky  man's  got  her — but  he  ought  to  be  man 
enough  to  own  her.  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  People  have  good  reasons  for  keepin' 
their  affairs  private  sometimes,"  she  said. 

Jim  nodded,  and  helped  himself  to  a  lump  of  sugar  from 
an  adjacent  bowl.  There  had  been  long  periods  of  his 
own  career  when  the  value  of  secrecy  seemed  superlative. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

"  You  are  not  going  into  town  this  winter  ? "  asked  Neal. 

Ada  smiled,  noting  the  relief  in  her  husband's  voice. 
"  No,  I  shall  stay  on  the  Island.  Does  it  please  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  glad  on  my  grandfather's  account." 

"  And  on  your  own  ?  " 

Neal  did  not  reply,  for  he  lived  these  days  under  the 
shadow  of  the  fear  of  self -betrayal.  Ada's  half-mocking 
eyes  were  not  easy  to  meet  when  his  thoughts  were  full  of 
Patricia,  when  his  heart  was  hungry  for  her.  He  had 
heard  that  she  was  ill  in  her  father's  home,  news  that 
racked  him  with  apprehension,  yet  he  could  make  but  the 
most  cautious  inquiries.  For  her  sake  he  must  keep  out 
of  the  perspective.  Secrecy  coupled  with  anxiety  corroded 
his  spirit.  He  was  infinitely  relieved  when  he  heard  that 
the  winter  migration  to  town  was  not  to  take  place.  But 
Ada's  decision  puzzled  him.  Everything  about  her  puzzled 
him  these  days,  for  she  seemed  reversing  all  her  old  cus- 
toms, staying  at  home  most  of  the  time  and  entertaining 
very  little.  Wentworth  had  returned  to  England.  Of  him 
she  never  spoke. 

On  this  dark  November  day  Neal,  just  returned  from 
the  city,  had  found  Ada  in  the  library  and  she  had  told  him 
her  plans.  She  watched  him  now,  faint  curiosity  stirring 
in  her  own  breast,  as  he  stood  with  one  arm  on  the  mantel, 
his  face  abstracted,  careworn  and  singularly  indifferent. 
His  life  apparently  had  dwindled  to  an  effort  to  keep  up 
with  his  partner,  Peter. 

She  still  asked  herself  what  folly  had  caused  him  to 
throw  away  his  position  on  The  Courier  that  he  might 
merge  himself  in  the  general  insignificance  of  money- 
making?  The  paltry  excuse  of  providing  a  home  for  his 

323 


324  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

lachrymose  aunt  did  not  convince  her.  Was  his  deeper 
reason  a  desire  to  keep  a  balance  of  power  between  himself 
and  her  ?  Soon  that  necessity  would  be  over.  The  marriage 
was  about  frayed  through,  was  going  to  pieces  out  of  sheer 
inability  to  hold  together.  Ada  had  almost  made  up  her 
mind  to  get  a  divorce  on  the  ground  of  incompatibility  or 
any  other  trumped-up  nonsense.  Real  cause,  she  feared, 
Neal  would  never  give  her. 

"May  I  ask  why  you  want  to  be  here  this  winter?"  he 
inquired. 

Ada  yawned.  "  I'm  tired  of  opera,  of  exhibitions,  of 
concerts,  of  people  who  say  the  same  inane  things  to  each 
other  about  the  same  inane  subjects.  I'm  tired  of  reformers 
and  society  leaders.  I'm  tired  of  working  girls,  and  child 
labor,  and  the  white-slave  traffic.  Human  nature  will  go  on 
being  beastly  no  matter  what  they  do  to  whitewash  the 
outside  of  it." 

"  I'm  not  tired  of  these  things,"  Neal  said,  "  because 
they're  not  really  fads.  You  know  they're  facts ;  I'm  tired 
of  being  unreal." 

Ada  leaned  back  a  little  in  her  chair,  relaxing  her  body 
into  long,  soft  curves,  and  watching  Neal  from  under  her 
drooping  lids.  His  growing  indifference  to  her  piqued  her 
vanity  at  times,  aroused  in  her  the  old  desire  to  make  him 
feel,  to  make  him  suffer  rather  than  that  he  should  give 
her  no  tribute  of  emotion.  Even  during  the  period  of  her 
completest  domination  over  him  she  had  always  the  con- 
sciousness that  some  part  of  his  nature  escaped  her, 
thwarted  her,  as  by  the  sight  of  fleeing  wings. 

"  What  do  you  call  being  real  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Being  at  ease  with  life — with  one's  self." 

Ada  laughed.  "  I'm  the  realest  thing  in  this  house  then. 
Jack  comes  next, — though  even  poor  old  Jack  acts  lately 
as  if  he  had  premonitions  of  a  higher  life.  And  he  was  such 
a  complete  pagan." 

Her  eyes  were  mischievous,  provoking.  Neal  met  them 
with  a  smile,  as  if  he  were  quite  ready  to  share  any  joke 
she  chose  to  produce. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  325 

"  You  serious  people  are  a  restless  tribe,"  Ada  went  on. 
"  By  the  way,  do  you  ever  see  anything  of  Patricia  ?  " 

Ada  launched  this  arrow  at  random,  but  to  her  surprise 
Neal  reddened  violently.  His  voice  was  not  quite  steady  as 
he  answered. 

"  I  haven't  seen  her — since  last  July.  She  was  returning 
on  the  Southmarsh  Road  to  Grand ville.  I  gave  her  a  lift 
on  White  Star." 

Ada  glanced  at  the  hand  which  rested  on  the  mantel.  It 
was  trembling.  A  sudden  wave  of  jealousy  swept  over  her; 
jealousy  of  this  woman  of  the  people  who  haunted  her 
horizon  like  an  accusing  ghost. 

"  What  a  life  for  a  woman,"  commented  Ada.  "  Always 
dealing  with  sickness  and  death!  But  then  Patricia  likes 
it,  I  suppose.  She's  as  serious  as  you  are.  I  wonder  how 
she'll  put  in  her  time  when  she's  married  to  the  Murphy 
person.  I  suppose  she'll  hate  money  as  you  do ;  think  it  sin- 
ful ;  try  to  make  a  St.  Francis  of  her  husband.  I'm  afraid 
she'll  bore  him  to  death." 

The  merry  inference  was  lost  on  Neal,  who  was  wonder- 
ing whether  he  had  said  too  much  in  his  efforts  to  appear 
easy  and  natural  on  the  subject  of  Patricia.  It  was  entirely 
unnecessary  to  speak  of  the  Southmarsh  Road.  Few  people 
had  seen  them  that  day,  and  probably  no  one  who  recog- 
nized them. 

He  changed  the  subject,  but  Ada's  sharp  eyes  were 
searching  his  face  where  the  telltale  color  still  lingered. 
Did  he  really  care  for  Patricia?  Much  good  it  would  do 
him !  She  was  as  likely  to  return  any  overtures  he  might 
make  as  some  pictured  virgin-martyr  seen  remotely  through 
incense  fumes.  She  wondered  whether  Neal  would  marry 
Patricia  if  she,  Ada,  divorced  him.  The  thought  was  not 
a  pleasant  one.  She  was  glad  that  she  had  not  posted  a 
certain  letter  lying  upstairs  on  her  desk.  She  would  destroy 
it.  She  must  know  more  of  the  cause  of  Neal's  sudden, 
overwhelming  embarrassment  when  Patricia's  name  was 
mentioned  before  she  declared  to  some  lawyer  that  she 
and  her  husband  were  "  incompatible." 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

"  AND  ye  are  goin'  before  Christmas,  Pat  dear,  to  take 
another  case  ?  To-morrow,  you  say  ?  " 

Uncle  Shamus  whispered  these  questions  feebly  to  his 
favorite  niece  who  sat  by  his  bedside  holding  his  hand.  He 
knew  that  he  was  drifting,  drifting  with  a  deep  content, 
which  even  the  news  of  another  long  absence  on  Patricia's 
part  could  not  break.  The  Rosicrucian  had  told  him  it  was 
nearly  always  so  when  the  ship  was  making  port, — a  fair 
wind  blew  and  angelic  hands  took  the  helm.  And  indeed  his 
mind  was  now  endowed  with  the  clairvoyance  that  not  in- 
frequently comes  to  the  dying.  He  would  never  really  part 
from  Patricia  any  more. 

"Dear  love,  dear  heart,  you  won't  forget  me?  You'll 
pray  for  me  often?"  Patricia  whispered. 

"  Night  an'  mornin'.  Father  Carew  was  here  to-day. 
He  takes  it  hard  that  you're  goin'  to  nurse  again.  I  don't." 

"No,  dear?" 

"  No !  He  give  me  the  holy  oil.  He's  sayin'  a  Mass  for 
me,  come  mornin'.  Since  me  anointin'  many  things  are  clear 
to  me ;  and  just  before  you  come,  Pat  dear,  I  had  a  vision." 

"Yes,  Uncle  Shamus." 

"  I  dreamed  of  a  ship.  She  warn't  a  schooner  and  she 
warn't  a  barque,  and  she  looked  light  for  sea  travel,  but 
I  swarmed  aboard  over  her  side  for  I  liked  the  looks  of  her. 
Says  I,  '  I'll  take  a  chanst  on  the  Captain.'  An'  I  asked  for 
her  charts  an'  her  course,  but  she  went  on  into  bright 
weather  with  no  answer  to  me.  You  mind  those  Islands 
you  an'  me  ust  to  talk  of  ?  " 

"The  Blessed  Islands?" 

"  Yes.    Colleen,  I  guess  I  was  sailin'  there." 

Patricia  drew  his  withered  hand  closer.  "  When  you  get 
there,  dear,  will  you  ask  God  to  be  merciful  to  me? " 

326 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  327 

Uncle  Shamus  smiled,  relapsed  into  silence,  into  the  deep 
contentment  that  no  human  voices  could  ever  break  again. 
Even  Pat's  request  seemed  scarcely  worth  answering.  Of 
course  God  would  be  merciful  to  her. 

Patricia  waited  until  he  was  fast  asleep  and  then,  softly 
withdrawing  her  hand,  stood  for  a  moment  looking  about 
the  poor  little  room  which  in  all  probability  she  would 
never  see  again;  for  it  was  not  likely  that  more  than  a 
month  of  life  remained  to  the  old  mariner.  Some  night 
he  would  slip  out  with  the  tide  after  the  manner  of  those 
who  have  followed  the  sea  and  whose  souls  depart  on  the 
ebb.  He  would  not  miss  her  nor  anyone  at  the  end,  for 
Jesus  Christ  would  be  with  him.  Patricia  crossed  herself, 
looking  through  the  little  windowpanes  at  the  tall,  dark 
trees  in  their  December  bareness,  at  the  old  men  walking 
feebly  up  and  down  the  long  avenues,  at  the  white  sails  of 
the  ships  in  the  channel  beyond.  Peace,  and  yet  deeper 
peace,  and  hope  for  Uncle  Shamus  even  in  the  purgatorial 
fires  where  the  stains  of  his  earthly  travel,  his  nautical  in- 
dulgences in  hard  swearing  and  hard  drinking,  would  melt 
away,  leaving  only  the  brave,  kind  heart  to  go  forward  to 
his  Lord.  There  was  hope  in  the  end  for  him,  whom  already 
the  Church  had  pardoned  and  anointed  and  prepared  for  the 
supernal  journey.  But  for  her? 

The  result  of  her  body's  restoration  to  health  had  been 
the  greater  activity  of  her  brain,  an  activity  difficult  to 
endure  because  of  the  destructive  nature  of  her  thoughts, 
which  placed  her  as  an  outcast,  a  wilful  outcast  from  the 
great  church  of  Christ  on  earth.  The  past  month  had  been 
one  long  struggle  between  her  desire  to  confess  and  her 
conviction  that  not  even  to  escape  eternal  torment  would  she 
utter  Neal  Carmichael's  name  in  the  confessional — and  the 
name  might  be  demanded  of  her !  That  Father  Carew  was 
worried  by  her  abstaining  from  this  sacrament  she  was 
aware  by  his  questions  when  he  met  her,  for  he  watched 
over  his  flock  with  true  pastoral  care.  But  she  could  never 
go  to  him  now.  She  was  shutting  the  door  slowly  but 
surely  on  her  old  life  and  its  associations.  What  woman 


328  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

would  emerge  from  the  dark  avenue  of  transition  she  could 
not  know,  but  it  would  be  a  stranger  and  a  wanderer. 

The  process  preparatory  to  her  hiding  had  been  made 
difficult,  for  her  family  had  opposed  violently  her  going  to 
this  mysterious  "  case  "  to  which,  a  few  days  before,  she 
announced  that  she  had  been  summoned.  Mrs.  McCoy  had 
looked  fearfully  at  her  daughter  when  like  a  thunderbolt 
the  news  came.  It  was  uncanny,  such  a  course  of  action. 
A  woman,  soon  to  be  married,  to  go  away,  and  just  before 
the  holidays!  And  for  what?  That  Patricia  refused  to 
give  either  the  name  of  the  "  case  "  or  its  locality  was  not 
in  itself  singular.  Once  or  twice  before,  in  dangerous 
diseases,  she  had  cut  loose  completely  from  the  family, 
declining  all  communication  with  them.  What  hurt  the 
worried  mother  was  that  Patricia,  just  recovered  from  a 
siege  of  nursing,  should  risk  her  health  and  perhaps  her 
life  again.  James  McCoy  shared  his  wife's  anxiety. 
Thomas  felt  distinctly  injured.  Patricia  was  well  again. 
They  might  have  some  of  the  pleasures  of  an  engaged 
couple,  going  together  to  theaters  or  to  dances. 

Patricia  lingered  in  Uncle  Shamus's  room  until  the 
twilight  had  almost  hidden  the  little  shrunken  figure  on 
the  bed,  then  she  slipped  away  and  hurried,  a  dark,  bowed 
shadow,  through  the  echoing  corridors. 

Her  way  home  taking  her  past  St.  Margaret's  Church, 
she  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  enter  it,  not  knowing 
when  again  her  feet  might  cross  its  portals,  nor  under 
what  circumstances.  The  great  nave  was  almost  in  dark- 
ness ;  but  there  being  the  vigil  of  a  feast,  lights  were  burn- 
ing before  some  of  the  side  altars.  Where  the  shadow  was 
deepest  Patricia  knelt.  She  prayed  for  many  people,  for 
her  father,  her  mother,  her  sisters,  for  Thomas  and  Uncle 
Shamus,  but  she  could  utter  no  petition  for  herself  or  for 
Neal  Carmichael.  Her  heart  felt  filled  with  dust,  and 
wearily  she  rose  at  last  to  continue  her  journey.  The  door 
of  the  church  closed  in  the  altars,  the  lights,  the  worshiping 
figures,  and  she  stood  again  in  the  street,  one  of  the  lonely. 

As  she  neared  her  own  home  she  was  aware  of  an  un- 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  329 

wonted  atmosphere  of  festivity,  which  radiated  from  lighted 
windows  and  the  opened  front  door,  through  which  Father 
Carew's  figure  was  passing.  What  was  the  meaning  of  it 
all?  She  quickened  her  steps,  and  her  mother,  who  had 
seen  her  coming,  ran  out  to  meet  her. 

"  Here's  Pat ! "  she  called  over  her  shoulder  to  the 
others.  "  Patricia,  dear,  Tom's  here.  We've  made  a  party 
for  you." 

"  Oh,  Mother,  why  did  you  do  that?  " 

Mrs.  McCoy  frowned,  sighed.  "  Why  can't  you  look 
pleased !  You're  a  lucky  girl,  and  you  don't  know  it." 

Patricia  forced  herself  to  smile,  as  she  slid  an  arm  around 
her  mother's  waist. 

"  It's  good  of  you,  dear !  I've  been  with  Uncle  Shamus, 
you  know !  " 

"  Oh,  he'll  last  another  month,"  Mrs.  McCoy  said 
briskly.  "  Here  she  is,  Tom." 

She  delivered  her  daughter  to  the  waiting  lover,  who 
looked  singularly  like  a  bridegroom  as  he  stood  in  the 
brightly  illuminated  sitting-room,  a  white  flower  in  his 
buttonhole,  his  lips  in  an  expectant  smile.  He  was  an  all 
too  ready  conspirator  of  the  group  which  included  his 
betrothed's  parents  and  spiritual  pastor.  Patricia,  with  a 
sinking  heart,  looked  about  upon  the  assembled  faces,  each 
wearing  that  expression  of  sly  humor  which  usually  accom- 
panies a  quickly  planned,  hilarious  solution  of  a  difficulty. 
To  take  Patricia  by  storm,  they  had  concluded,  was  the 
best  method  of  checkmating  her  insane  resolution  to  nurse 
another  case. 

Some  premonition  of  their  scheme  reached  her,  mani- 
fested in  the  vague  uneasiness  that  filled  her.  A  bleak 
loneliness  about  her  shut  her  from  their  craving  love.  She 
stood  white  and  mute,  a  tragic  figure,  her  smile  contradicted 
by  the  apprehension  in  her  dark,  heavy  eyes. 

"  You're  tired  as  you  can  be,"  McCoy  said  with  affec- 
tionate harshness,  "  an'  you  talking  of  another  case  to- 
morrow." 

"  All  folly !  "  Tom  whispered. 


330  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  If  you  go  anywhere  to-morrow,  'twill  be  to  St.  Mar- 
garet's," Father  Carew  said  cheerfully,  "  an'  I'll  lay  the 
care-cloth  over  the  shoulders  of  the  two  of  you." 

The  meaning,  the  intention  of  this  assemblage  broke 
upon  her  in  a  slow  wave  of  light  as  hard  as  that  which 
ushers  in  the  day  of  execution.  To  gain  time  she  mur- 
mured something  about  changing  her  dress  and  hurriedly 
left  the  room.  When  she  reached  her  own  bedroom  she 
was  panting  like  a  hunted  thing,  while  a  cold  perspiration 
matted  her  hair  against  her  forehead  and  made  her  hands 
clammy.  She  stood  for  a  moment  looking  wildly  about  her, 
then  locked  her  door,  putting  her  ear  against  it  to  be  sure 
that  no  one  followed. 

Sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  bed  she  tried  to  collect  her 
thoughts,  to  line  out  quickly  a  course  of  action  before  she 
again  faced  those  loving  confusers  of  her  destiny.  Had  she 
strength,  either  moral  or  physical,  to  oppose  negatives  to 
their  persistence?  A  negative  unaccompanied  by  a  reason 
was  like  an  unloaded  weapon.  To  flourish  it  was  to  invite 
ridicule,  and  the  final  tearing  down  of  defenses. 

One  circumstance  was  in  her  favor.  She  had  sent  her 
trunk  containing  her  nursing  clothes  and  her  plainest  dresses 
away  that  morning,  Jim  having  called  for  it  at  the  express 
office.  If  she  were  cornered  by  their  affectionate  entreaties 
to  celebrate  Yuletide  with  a  wedding,  she  would  acquiesce, 
then  slip  away  early  in  the  morning  before  daylight. 

Her  plans  made,  she  put  on  a  dress  suited  to  festivity.  A 
murmur  of  admiration  went  through  her  assembled  family 
when  she  reappeared  among  them,  for  there  was  a  touch 
of  wild  beauty  about  her  which  they  attributed  to  the 
heightening  of  her  natural  charms  by  the  gown  she  wore, 
but  which  was  really  the  reflection  of  the  tragedy  and  of 
the  necessity  to  play  a  high  part  for  the  last  time. 

"  I  never  saw  that  dress  before,"  Tom  said,  stretching 
out  an  admiring  hand  to  touch  its  laces.  They  had  seated 
Patricia  by  the  fire  in  an  armchair  while  the  banquet  sup- 
per was  in  preparation.  Against  its  crimson  back,  her  head 
was  resting.  The  only  color  in  her  face  was  in  her  full  red 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  33 1 

lips.  The  firelight  threw  strange  shadows  over  the  rosy 
dress,  in  the  lap  of  which  her  hands  lay  idle.  They  would 
not  allow  her  to  help,  so  she  sat  in  symbolic  state  removed, 
as  she  knew,  forever  from  their  activities.  Her  sister  Rose 
leaning  over  the  chair's  back  pinned  a  flower  in  Patricia's 
piled-up  tresses.  When  he  was  sure  no  one  was  listening 
Tom  bent  to  her. 

"How  beautiful  you  are,  Pat!  Wait  till  I  have  the 
chance  to  buy  you  dresses.  Not  a  woman  on  this  Island 
will  be  able  to  hold  a  candle  to  you,  not  even  Mrs.  Car- 
michael ! " 

His  voice  seemed  to  come  from  an  immeasurable  dis- 
tance— from  her  long-forgotten  lands  of  childhood  and 
hours  of  sunny  play  in  vanished  springs,  sounding  as  unreal 
in  her  ears  as  astral  music. 

"Do  you  know  what  they  are  up  to,  my  dear?"  he 
whispered  confidentially.  "  Father  Carew  is  going  to 
make  us  one  to-morrow!  He  means  to  confess  us  and 
say  Mass  over  us  at  ten.  I  can't  wait — and  if  you  are 
willing!  " 

He  expected  the  old  protests  from  her.  She  only  sighed 
a  little,  and  then  whispered,  "  But  the  banns  have  not  been 
read." 

"  Father  Carew  said  he  has  published  them  on  the  last 
three  Advent  Sundays  at  one  of  the  early  Masses.  He's  a 
great  one!  I've  got  the  license  all  ready." 

He  tapped  his  vest-pocket  and  beamed  upon  her,  but 
with  none  of  the  old-time  proprietary  spirit.  In  this  hour 
of  his  approaching  triumph  he  felt  humble. 

"  But  the  house,"  she  whispered. 

"  We'll  go  to  a  hotel  in  town  for  the  winter.  I  guess  we 
can  stand  hotel  cooking  for  three  months." 

Mrs.  McCoy,  coming  through  the  room  with  a  dish, 
looked  approvingly  at  the  pair  in  the  firelight.  Tom  was 
bringing  her  around  at  last,  this  high-spirited,  stiff-necked 
beautiful  daughter.  Father  Carew  was  watching  them  out 
of  his  eye  with  warm  priestly  approval.  It  was  high  time 
those  two  children  were  united  in  the  sacrament  of  mar- 


332  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

riage.  Why  wait  for  such  earthly  gewgaws  as  handsome 
houses  ? 

"  And  now  he's  told  you,  Patricia,  my  dear,"  he  said 
jocularly,  in  a  pause  in  the  conversation.  "  Your  bright 
cheeks  say  so." 

"  Yes,  he  has  told  me,  Father,"  she  said  in  an  even 
voice,  her  eyes  not  quite  meeting  Father  Carew's  friendly 
gaze,  but  he  put  it  down  to  a  girl's  embarrassment. 

"  I'll  expect  you  at  nine,  Patricia.  We'll  have  low  Mass  in 
a  side  chapel,  seein'  it's  a  sudden,  very  quiet  weddin'." 

"  Yes,  Father." 

"  Benedicite,"  he  murmured. 

Supper  being  announced,  Patricia  was  made  to  take  the 
head  of  the  table,  which  was  gay  with  candles  and  flowers. 
She  found  it  easy  to  act  her  part,  because  already  she  had 
gone  so  far  from  this  circle  that  their  voices  came  to  her 
as  through  the  mystically  tapestried  curtains  of  a  dream, 
voices  with  scarcely  enough  authority  in  them  to  seem 
familiar  to  her.  They  did  not  know  with  what  stranger 
they  were  dealing!  Of  them  all,  James  McCoy  alone 
seemed  silent  and  abstracted.  He  glanced  from  time  to 
time  at  the  daughter  who  had  been  the  source  of  so  much 
pride  to  him,  seated  in  quiet  dignity  opposite  him.  The 
odd  thought  crossed  his  mind  that  already  she  appeared  to 
have  the  air  of  a  matron,  calm,  assured,  initiated. 

To  Patricia's  infinite  relief,  the  party  did  not  last  long, 
everyone  being  more  or  less  conscious  of  some  strain  in  the 
situation,  attributable  perhaps  to  the  mechanical  character 
of  any  "  plan  "  suddenly  concocted.  Even  Father  Carew, 
so  jealously  sure  of  doing  his  duty  in  this  matter,  was 
glad  to  say  good-by  to  the  betrothed  pair  and  to  go  home 
to  his  rectory.  Tom  kissed  Patricia  good-night  before  them 
all,  promising  to  call  for  her  in  his  car  at  a  few  minutes 
to  nine.  Then  James  McCoy  went  off  to  bed.  As  each 
figure  vanished,  Patricia  had  the  sensation  of  reading  a 
name  on  a  headstone.  After  awhile,  Mrs.  McCoy  followed 
her  husband. 

Rose  left  alone  with  Patricia  wound  her  arms  about  her 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  333 

sister's  waist.  "  I'll  miss  you,  Pat,"  she  whispered.  "  I 
don't  think  they  ought  to  have  forced  it.  You  haven't  even 
a  dress  ready — and  all  because  they  were  afraid  you'd  take 
that  case.  You've  been  awfully  sweet  about  it.  I  should 
have  made  a  fuss." 

Patricia  clasped  her  sister  closer. 

"  Rose,"  she  murmured,  "  whatever  happens  in  future, 
you'll  always  love  me,  won't  you?" 

"  How  can  you  ask !  Even  if  I  didn't  want  to,  I  couldn't 
help  loving  you.  It  is  because  you  have  a  way  with  you. 
That's  why  I  forgive  poor  Tom.  He  can't  help  himself 
either.  Of  course  he  wants  you." 

"  I'm  not  worth  it,  my  darling." 

"  Patricia,  may  I  sleep  with  you  to-night?  It's  our  last 
night." 

"No,  dear!" 

"No?" 

"  I'd  rather  not.    I  am  very  tired.    Now  kiss  me." 

She  put  the  clinging  arms  from  her,  and  they  slid  to  her 
knees  in  a  long  embrace. 

"  We  must  go  to  Uncle  Shamus  from  the  church  to- 
morrow," Rose  said.  "  He'll  want  to  see  the  bride.  We'll 
surprise  him." 

The  tears  filled  Patricia's  eyes.  She  was  putting  her 
sister  from  her  with  a  gentle  good-night.  Once  safe  in  her 
own  room  she  locked  the  door  and  wrote  three  notes — one 
to*  her  mother,  one  to  Tom,  and  one  to  Father  Carew,  the 
burden  of  each  being  like  the  others.  She  must  go  to  the 
case.  She  asked  their  forgiveness.  She  had  not  opposed 
their  wishes  earlier,  because  it  seemed  less  difficult  to  go 
away  quietly.  In  no  one  of  the  notes  did  she  speak  of 
Easter,  or  of  the  future  keeping  of  her  promise.  That 
would  have  seemed  to  her  duplicity.  To  her  mother  she 
promised  an  early  letter. 

Putting  off  the  pink  dress  she  stretched  herself  on  the 
bed  without  further  unrobing,  but  her  sleep,  long  delayed, 
was  broken  and  uneasy.  Time  after  time  she  started  up, 
thinking  that  morning  had  entrapped  her.  At  last  when  it 


334  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

was  five  o'clock  she  rose,  and,  dressing  hastily,  went  down 
through  the  sleeping  house,  heavily  cloaked  and  veiled. 
Before  six  she  was  on  her  way  to  Lil's. 

As  the  gray  December  morning  was  breaking,  she  made 
her  way  through  the  old  orchard,  glad  of  the  silence,  the 
solitude,  the  friendly  twinkle  of  lights  in  the  ancient  farm- 
house. Lil  was  standing  on  the  steps,  looking  not  in 
Patricia's  direction  but  towards  the  sea-marshes  through 
whose  winding  channels  the  tide  was  now  rushing.  In  the 
opposite  horizon  the  morning  star  hung.  Against  the  deli- 
cate grayish-yellow  light  of  the  eastern  sky,  the  spire  of 
St.  Anne's  rose.  From  the  orchard  no  neighboring  house 
was  visible,  only  this  church — Neal  Carmichael's  church. 

But  Lil  had  seen  her  now  and  was  running  towards 
her,  an  embodiment  of  welcome. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you're  early — but  the  earlier  the  better. 
The  room  was  ready  last  night.  We've  put  a  little  stove 
in  it." 

"  I  am  glad  to  be  here.  I  want  to  be  shut  in  from  all 
the  world." 

Jim  had  come  out  to  greet  her  and  to  take  her  bag, 
a  silent  deference  in  his  manner.  Lil  preceded  her  to  the 
room,  where  a  candle  was  burning.  By  its  light  Patricia 
perceived  a  little  velvet  case  on  the  dressing-table.  Lil 
shut  the  door  with  a  mysterious  look. 

"  I  got  you  a  wedding  ring,"  she  whispered,  "  because 
I've  told  Jim  you're  married.  He's  never  to  know  anything 
else  while  I  have  breath  in  my  body.  You'll  put  it  on, 
won't  you  ?  " 

Patricia  opened  the  case.  In  its  bed  of  velvet  the  ring 
lay,  a  shining  half-circle  of  its  surface  visible;  but  she 
made  no  motion  to  put  it  on.  Lil  looked  anxiously  at  her. 

"  Won't  you  wear  it  ?  " 

Patricia  shook  her  head.  "  It  was  good  of  you,  but  I 
can't.  It's  a  sacred  thing.  I  can't  put  it  on." 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

ON  a  warm  sunny  day  towards  the  last  of  March,  when 
to  expectant  senses  the  air  seemed  impregnated  with  the 
odor  of  violets,  Patricia  and  Lil  were  seated  together  sew- 
ing, the  hour  a  replica  of  many  that  had  preceded  it,  a 
type  of  many  to  follow.  The  garments  they  held  were 
diminutive,  of  finest  texture,  and  embroidered  with  the 
elaborate  care  denoting  abundant  leisure.  Into  these  in- 
numerable stitches  Patricia  had  put  a  concentration  of 
thought  intended  to  exclude  problems  with  which  she 
was  incapable  of  dealing.  Set  adrift  by  one  supreme  mal- 
adventure  from  her  church,  her  family,  her  lover  and  her 
normal  occupations,  she  had  not  yet  sighted  the  solid 
earth  of  fresh  convictions  and  obligations;  and  had  de- 
spaired indeed  of  any  future  permanency. 

Two  aspects  of  her  condition  interchanged  from  time  to 
time  with  a  corresponding  reflex  effect  upon  her  spirits  and 
her  mental  tone.  She  had  detached  hours  of  a  life  un- 
related to  the  world,  or  to  the  teachings  of  the  Church ; 
and  in  these  periods  of  abstract  consideration  of  herself 
she  was  so  wholly  under  the  rule  of  nature  that  she  felt 
neither  a  sense  of  guilt  nor  of  remorse,  rather  a  wonder  of 
anticipation,  a  stirring  passion,  both  for  her  child  and  its 
father.  When  she  accepted  frankly  her  state  of  mind  un- 
deflected  by  any  artificial  or  imposed  standard,  she  knew 
that  far  from  her  love  for  Neal  Carmichael  being  im- 
paired by  what  had  happened,  it  was  increased  and  deep- 
ened. The  mysterious  bond  of  the  flesh  was  acting  pre- 
cisely as  it  would  within  marriage.  She  had  hours  of  in- 
tense yearning  for  him.  He  dominated  her  thoughts.  To 
herself  she  called  him  husband. 

Her  situation  in  the  lonely  farm-house,  shut  up  with  two 
people  utterly  delivered  by  their  own  past  sins  from  the 

335 


336  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

judging  of  others,  aided  this  recurrent  feeling  of  detach- 
ment, which  might  have  been  defined  as  a  return  to  primi- 
tive standards,  or  perhaps  manumission  from  any  stand- 
ards whatever.  Patricia,  following  the  courses  of  the  sea- 
marshes,  a  tall  cloaked  figure,  or  sitting  silently  by  the 
hearthfire,  was  at  times  an  innocent  Eve  in  a  cosmos 
newly  created. 

But  into  the  comforting  emptiness  would  pour  back,  by 
the  inevitable  law  of  moral  gravitation,  the  flood  of  com- 
plex tradition,  both  secular  and  religious,  which  had  sur- 
rounded her  from  birth.  Then,  again  the  Magdalen,  pale 
and  dejected,  Patricia  would  suffer  torment.  Two  objects 
of  the  material  world,  one  an  earthly  radiance,  the  other 
a  symbol  of  heaven's  lucidity,  steadied  her  mind  in  these 
periods  of  assailment  from  conscience  and  the  circum- 
scribing world — a  great  lighthouse  on  the  hill  behind  St. 
Anne's  and  the  spire  of  St.  Anne's  itself  like  an  angel's 
finger.  On  dark  and  stormy  nights,  when  the  heavy  mists 
or  the  black  rain  over  the  marshes  shut  her  in  with  the 
finality  of  an  inferno,  the  broad  avenue  of  light  from  the 
tower  to  the  sea,  spanning  magnificently  the  intervening 
gloom,  was  like  a  path  to  the  rational  world.  There  was 
sorrow  on  the  sea  and  in  her  heart  to  be  assuaged  by 
that  beacon. 

Sometimes  she  woke  in  the  early  winter  mornings  to 
see  a  light  in  the  east  window  of  St.  Anne's.  Then  she 
knew  that  Divine  was  celebrating  on  the  altar  of  the 
"  Church  in  schism,"  the  sacrament,  whose  full  power  she 
doubted  that  he  could  ever  experience.  To  her  mind  this 
remote  and  wistful  church  of  which  Neal  was  a  member 
had  long  ago  forfeited  its  divine  authority.  But  she  loved 
it  for  Neal's  sake  as  she  loved  the  dark,  rugged  contours 
of  St.  Anne's  and  its  ethereal  spire. 

With  her  own  people  she  kept  in  wary,  intermittent  com- 
munication. Their  first  anger  and  disappointment  over  her 
flight  abated,  they  had  accepted  the  inevitable,  though  not 
without  pointed  inquiries  as  to  the  date  of  Patricia's  re- 
turn. Jim  took  her  letters  to  the  city  to  mail,  receiving  their 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  337 

answers  at  the  general  postoffice.  Her  presence  at  the  farm- 
house was  not  known  beyond  it. 

In  February  Lil  had  been  taken  ill  and  Patricia  had 
nursed  her,  glad  of  an  occasion  that  lifted  a  little  from  her 
the  burden  of  her  deception.  Between  the  two  women  a 
strong,  warm  bond  existed,  born  of  their  hourly  association, 
their  mutual  helpfulness  to  each  other.  Patricia  was  con- 
tinually surprised  by  the  delicacy  of  feeling  this  one-time 
woman  of  the  streets  exhibited.  Neither  by  questions 
spoken  nor  implied  did  she  seek  to  uncover  Patricia's  past 
or  her  plans  for  the  future,  content  with  rendering  her 
the  service  of  the  present. 

Beyond  her  confinement  Patricia  often  looked;  but  the 
perspective,  offering  to  her  choice  an  interminable  series 
of  lies,  or  an  equally  extended  shadow  of  shame,  she 
averted  her  eyes  from  it  in  desperation.  She  had  neither 
the  physical  nor  the  moral  strength  to  live  more  than 
twenty-four  hours  at  a  time.  Sometimes  she  wondered 
if  she  should  become  a  nun,  but  already  the  premonitive  pas- 
sion of  mother-love  prohibited  separation  from  the  child. 

Lil,  who  on  this  afternoon  had  been  watching  Patricia 
anxiously,  leaned  over  at  last  and  took  the  work  from  her 
hands. 

"  Go  out  for  a  breath  of  air,"  she  said. 

"  I  believe  I  will.    The  muscles  of  my  back  ache  so." 

Throwing  a  long  cloak  about  her  she  went  into  the 
orchard,  drawing  in  grateful  breaths  of  the  warm  air  which 
held  the  unmistakable  odor  of  loosened  earth  and  rising 
saps.  The  great  willows  near  the  old  mill  were  faintly 
yellow.  In  a  warm,  sheltered  angle  of  the  garden  white 
violets  had  sprung  up.  The  grass  was  green  in  patches — 
the  vivid  Celtic  green  that  comforts  the  inner  eye  as 
well  as  the  outer.  Soon  the  world  would  follow  the  Easter 
moon  to  the  grave  of  Christ,  while  through  all  the  ancient 
forests  would  be  a  stir  and  a  movement,  as  many  little 
quivering  things  awoke  with  their  Lord.  From  that 
gracious  revival  and  triumph  she  would  be  excluded,  for 
she  knew  of  no  other  than  sacramental  access  to  Him. 


338  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Yet  instinctively  she  prayed,  adoring  Him,  as  the  forgotten 
might  adore  Him  from  the  circle  of  their  banishment. 

Through  the  orchard  she  went,  on  up  the  lane,  approach- 
ing nearer  and  nearer  St.  Anne's,  which  on  this  day  seemed 
quite  deserted;  but  she  could  see  that  one  of  the  doors 
had  been  left  open  as  usual  for  the  sake  of  the  chance  sight- 
seer or  worshiper.  On  Patricia's  hat  was  a  thick  veil 
which  she  now  drew  down  over  her  face,  preparatory  to 
entering  the  church. 

She  went  slowly  up  the  long  nave,  paused  before  the 
altar,  but  did  not  kneel.  The  Catholic  tradition  was  strong 
upon  her — and  this  Church  was  in  schism.  Happening  to 
look  down,  she  saw  that  she  was  standing  on  a  great  slab 
which  bore  the  word  "  Carmichael."  She  was  then  above 
the  vault  which  held  the  bones  of  a  long-continued  race. 
Wherever  she  looked  the  name  caught  her  eye,  on  memorial 
tablets  and  at  last  in  the  blood-red  fantastic  letters  beneath 
the  east  window,  recording  the  death  at  sea  in  1828  of 
Captain  Richard  Carmichael.  "  All  thy  waves  and  thy  bil- 
lows are  gone  over  me,"  came  like  a  sigh  from  the  sea. 
Beneath,  proudly,  were  the  arms  of  the  Carmichael  family 
— running  greyhounds  proper  on  a  field  argent,  the  motto 
in  Latin. 

She  had  put  back  her  veil  the  better  to  read  the  inscrip- 
tion; and  forgetting  for  the  moment  her  need  of  secrecy, 
she  permitted  herself  an  unclouded  survey  of  the  church. 
Its  melancholy  beauty  fascinated  her,  its  solitary  altar 
where  no  one  knelt  seemed  a  pathetic  confirmation  of  an 
historical  fact.  But  she  loved  this  building,  which  had 
companioned  so  many  of  her  thoughts  through  so  many 
hours. 

She  had  paused  before  a  window  to  admire  its  color. 
Turning  away  she  gave  a  startled  cry,  for  face  to  face 
with  her  in  the  aisle  was  Jack  Carmichael,  his  blue  eyes 
more  grave  and  puzzled  than  she  had  ever  seen  them. 

He  extended  his  hand  to  her.  "  I  was  looking  here  for  a 
scarfpin  I  dropped  last  Sunday,"  he  explained. 

Now  that  he  had  seen  her,  there  was  no  further  need  to 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  339 

pull  down  her  veil.  Patricia  waited  as  if  for  some  verdict 
from  his  lips,  and  trembling  seized  her.  The  whiteness  of 
her  face  was  her  excuse  for  seating  herself  in  the  nearest 
pew. 

Realization  of  her  tragedy  came  to  Jack  as  by  a  flash 
of  lightning.  As  so  often  happens,  the  scattered  events 
and  circumstances  of  many  months  were  suddenly  collected, 
interrelated  and  explained  by  one  significant  occurrence. 
He  remembered  having  heard  that  Patricia  had  gone  away 
to  nurse  a  case,  on  the  eve  of  a  suddenly  planned  marriage  ; 
that  she  had  been  absent  many  weeks,  not  even  appearing 
at  the  funeral  of  her  uncle  from  the  Mariner's  Rest.  He 
remembered  that  his  nephew  had  seemed  abstracted  by 
some  trouble  unconnected  with  Ada  and  her  whims.  Lastly, 
here  was  Patricia  herself,  changed,  transformed,  unmis- 
takably in  trouble. 

He  had  but  one  impulse — to  help  her  if  he  could.  To 
blame  or  to  judge  her  would  as  soon  have  occurred  to  him 
as  to  strike  her  with  his  hands.  Jack  had  wasted  much 
time  in  life,  but  never  as  a  judge  over  his  fellows.  As  for 
women,  he  thought  Nature,  or  whoever  was  back  of  the 
comedy,  had  dealt  rather  severely  with  them.  If  they  did 
go  wrong,  they  generally  got  the  worst  of  it — men  having 
short  memories. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Patricia  ?  "  he  said. 

The  solicitude  in  his  voice,  the  genuine  earnest  kindness 
in  his  eyes,  set  her  trembling  again. 

"  No,"  she  whispered.  "  Only  forget  that  you've  seen 
me." 

"  No  one  shall  know,  but  you  must  let  me  help." 

Without  an  open  word  between  them  the  situation  was 
understood,  and  a  great  weight  slipped  from  her.  If  the 
time  should  ever  come  to  reveal  certain  events  to  Neal 
Carmichael,  this  man  would  be  faithful. 

"  There  is  nothing  now !  Later,  I  am  going  away.  I 
should  be  glad  if  you  at  least  knew  of  my  plans  and — cir- 
cumstances. I  don't  need  material  help.  I  should  never 
need  that,  either  for  myself  or  for  my "  she  paused, 


340  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

unable  to  finish  the  sentence.  "  What  I  long  for  most  is  to 
protect  my  family.  I  am  in  hiding  below  the  church — at 
the  Carmichael  farm  which  James  Brentwood  and  his  wife 
have." 

"  I  see." 

"  And  I  want  to  get  away  as  soon  as " 

"  I  see." 

His  eyes  were  infinitely  grave,  yet  gentle  and  solicitous 
as  a  woman's.  The  evil  she  had  heard  of  him  surely 
could  not  be  true. 

"  I  shall  keep  in  communication  with  you,  if  you  will 
let  me,"  he  said,  then  gave  her  some  brief  instructions. 
"I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  believe,  Patricia,  that  Mrs.  Car- 
michael will  soon  seek  a  divorce." 

Her  eyes  grew  big  with  fear.  "  I've  not  brought  trouble 
on  him !  " 

"  There's  not  a  whisper." 

"  Ah !  "  She  sighed  her  relief,  and  then  added,  "  I  pray 
they  may  continue  married.  I  am  a  Catholic.  There  is 
no  hope  for  me,  whatever  happens." 

He  looked  wonderingly  at  her — a  type  of  woman  new 
to  him.  What  fascination  had  Neal  Carmichael  exercised 
over  her  that  she  had  so  gone  against  the  grain  of  her 
nature?  Jack  felt  profoundly  moved  and  troubled;  for  a 
moment  the  dark  mysteries  of  life  shook  him  out  of  his 
kindly  cynicism.  There  must  be  help  somewhere  for 
stumbling  humanity — a  solution  for  the  dreadful  muddle 
life  was. 

He  shook  hands  with  Patricia,  who  now  rose  to  go, 
escorted  her  to  the  door  which  he  held  open  for  her,  bowing 
as  she  passed  him.  This  was  terrible — terrible  to  happen 
to  her,  of  all  women ! 

When  she  was  gone  he  stood  in  the  aisle  of  the  church 
a  moment,  resolutions  welling  up  in  him  so  fast  that  they 
mingled  in  torrential  force.  Protect  her!  God  helping 
him,  he  would  never  rest  until  she  was  somewhere  safely, 
where  the  cloak  and  the  black  veil  could  be  put  aside. 
This  was  no  woman  for  skulking,  for  evasions  and  the 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  341 

pitiful  falsehoods  of  the  fallen.  Great  heavens !  what 
wiles  had  Neal  practiced  upon  this  girl.  What  taint 
was  in  the  Carmichael  blood  that  such  a  puritan  as  this 
aloof  nephew  had  yielded  to  temptation.  Jack  began  to 
quiver  as  if  with  an  ague  chill.  What  had  Divine  said? 
"  Pray !  "  Well,  pray  he  would.  The  Carmichael  pew  was 
near  and  he  entered  it,  and  sank  upon  his  knees,  his  mind 
groping  for  the  long  familiar  and  suddenly  evasive  petitions 
of  the  Litany.  "  Miserable  sinners  !  "  That  was  it !  "  Have 
mercy  upon  us  miserable  sinners."  The  phrase  rang  in 
his  brain  like  the  summons  of  a  bell.  That  poor  girl !  And 
he  had  pledged  his  silence.  He  rose — and  as  he  left  the  pew 
faced  his  astonished  nephew. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

To  Neal's  surprise  his  uncle  made  no  reference  to  the 
extraordinary  posture  in  which  he  had  been  discovered. 
Not  the  ghost  of  an  explanation  was  forthcoming.  Jack 
demanded,  indeed,  why  his  nephew  was  at  St.  Anne's. 

"  I  am  generally  sure  of  solitude  here,"  Neal  answered, 
"  but  if  the  congregation  takes  to  praying  on  weekdays 
I'll  be  driven  elsewhere.  In  fact  I  was  down  at  our  old 
farm,  calling  on  the  Brentwoods.  I  met  a  woman  heavily 
veiled  in  the  lane;  looked  like  one  of  the  sisters  of 
charity." 

"  Probably  was,"  Jack  murmured,  relieved.  "  How  are 
your  proteges,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  Miss  McCoy's  ?  " 

"  They  look  remarkably  well.  They've  made  a  snug  place 
of  that  farm-house.  My  particular  errand  there  was  to 
inquire  for  Miss  McCoy.  She  generally  keeps  in  touch  with 
them,  and  I  thought  they  might  be  able  to  tell  me  where 
she  is." 

"Were  they  able?" 

"  They  seemed  to  know  nothing  whatever  about  her,  and 
that  surprised  me." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  her  ?  " 

Neal  studied  his  watch-charm  attentively. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  she  is  getting  on.  We  have 
always  been  friends,  you  know." 

His  face  looked  drawn  and  anxious,  and  Jack  softened 
towards  him  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Her  family  might  tell  you." 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  think  of  going  to  them,"  Neal  said 
hastily,  "  I  shouldn't  dream  of  it." 

"  Where's  Ada  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  At  somebody's  card-party,  the  man  told  me.  Want  to 
walk  home,  Jack?" 

342 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  343 

"Walk!  Oh,  well,  I  don't  mind  trying  it.  We  might 
look  in  on  Divine,  then  on  Maria,  and  break  it  up  by  easy 
stakes." 

Together  they  walked  in  silence  along  the  road  that  went 
from  the  church  back  to  the  town,  turning  into  the  drive 
that  led  to  the  rectory,  when  they  had  traversed  about  one 
half-mile. 

Divine  was  in  his  study,  the  man  servant  announced. 
Hearing  voices,  he  himself  came  out  to  meet  them. 

"  Two  Carmichaels  at  once !  This  is  too  good  to  be  true," 
he  said,  extending  his  hands  to  them. 

"Aren't  we  intruding?"  Neal  asked. 

"  I'm  glad  to  have  you.  I've  been  trying  over  the  tele- 
phone to  explain  to  a  rather  bewildered  matron  why  I  do 
not  wish  the  Athanasian  Creed  recited  on  Trinity  Sunday. 
I  thought  the  best  reason  I  could  bring  forward  was  that 
it's  not  in  the  American  Prayer-book;  but  she's  the  kind, 
poor  dear,  who  carries  an  umbrella  when  it's  raining  in 
London." 

"  I  suppose  they  come  to  you  with  strange  requests." 

"  With  their  headaches,  heartaches,  pew-rents,  theologi- 
cal scruples  and  theories  on  ventilation." 

Neal  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  feel  as  if  you  had  been 
put  to  sweeping  rooms  after  managing  a  nation." 

"  I've  been  put  where  I  belong.  If  I  can  make  them 
see,  it's  worth  it." 

"  See  what  ?  "  Neal  ventured. 

"  Some  vision !  To  help  them  endure  each  other — and 
life  itself." 

Jack  said  nothing.  His  nephew  looked  for  mockery  in 
the  weary  blue  eyes,  but  they  were  acquiescent.  Endure 
each  other !  How  difficult  it  was  to  endure  even  one's  own 
sins  and  stupidities! 

The  talk  drifted  to  other  subjects.  They  were  inter- 
rupted by  a  servant  bringing  in  a  card,  which  Divine 
scrutinized  with  some  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  show  him  in.  It's  Thomas  Murphy,"  he  explained 
to  the  Carmichaels. 


344  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Neal's  face  blanched.  He  would  rather  have  met  any 
man  in  the  world  just  then  than  Patricia's  fiance. 

Murphy's  astonishment  upon  seeing  the  Carmichaels  had 
the  effect  of  throwing  him  into  the  old  rigid  rusticity  of 
manner.  He  advanced  awkwardly  towards  Divine,  with 
curt  greetings  to  the  others,  who  were  already  in  attitudes 
of  valediction.  Neal,  feeling  as  if  he  should  bare  his  breast 
to  this  man's  pistol-shot,  went  from  the  room  with  a  hurried 
good-by  to  his  host,  Jack  following. 

"  Sorry  to  interrupt,"  Thomas  addressed  Divine. 

"  You  didn't  interrupt,  and  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you. 
Sit  down."  Divine  drew  a  chair  into  the  circle  of  firelight. 
He  was  secretly  wondering  on  what  errand  this  young 
Irishman  had  come,  for  their  previous  intercourse  had 
been  of  the  slightest. 

Murphy  took  the  chair,  looking  awkward  and  miserable ; 
but  Divine's  warm,  friendly  gaze  upon  him  had  at  last  a 
relaxing  effect.  He  plunged  without  preliminaries  into  the 
subject  of  his  visit. 

"  I  suppose  you've  heard,"  he  said,  "  that  the  young  lady 
I'm  engaged  to,  Miss  McCoy,  has  been  gone  a  long  time  on 
another  case  ?  " 

Divine  nodded. 

"  It's  a  craze  with  her — this  nursing,"  Thomas  said,  a 
note  of  bitterness  in  his  voice.  "  I  think  she'd  leave  para- 
dise to  take  a  case;  at  any  rate,  she  left  me  on  the  eve  of 
our  wedding,  not  the  one  we'd  planned  for  Easter,  under- 
stand, but  the  quick  one,  with  low  Mass,  that  Father  Carew 
thought  of  as  a  kind  of  check  to  her  running  off  again. 
But  bless  you,  it  didn't  work !  She  gave  us  all  the  slip  and 
stole  away.  It's  probably  an  infectious  case;  seems  like 
consumption,  it's  taken  so  long." 

Divine  made  no  comment.  He  had  his  own  secret 
theories  and  fears  about  Patricia's  absence. 

"  Well,  I  came  to  ask  you,  Father — I  mean,  Mr.  Divine — 
if  you  ever  run  across  Patricia  in  any  of  the  homes  you  go 
to,  that  you'll  tell  her  Easter  is  nearly  here,  and  the  house 
is  all  ready  now.  The  water  is  in,  but  I'm  waiting  for 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  345 

her  to  choose  the  furniture.  We  write  to  each  other,  of 
course,  but  she  doesn't  say  much  about  the  house,  so  that 
I've  a  notion  she  didn't  get  some  of  my  letters." 

"  Why  of  course  I'll  tell  her,  my  boy,  if  I  should  see 
her,"  Divine  promised,  his  heart  suddenly  heavy  and  appre- 
hensive. "  I've  always  been  interested  in  Patricia." 

"  I  know  that ;  I  came  for  that  reason,  and  Patricia  al- 
ways thought  a  lot  of  your  work  on  The  Courier.  Patricia 
admires  intellect." 

"  She  is  a  very  bright  woman — very  capable,"  Divine 
answered. 

"  I  sometimes  wish  she  were  like  other  girls,"  Thomas 
commented,  "  taken  with  a  bit  of  jewelry,  and  more  ready 
tc  dance  than  to  eat,  but  she  was  never  that  way.  I  have 
a  beautiful  house  for  her.  I'll  be  pleased  to  show  you  over 
it  some  day  if  you  have  the  time." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  it ;  I  know  it  from  a  distance,  of  course." 

"  I'll  marry  her  the  moment  she  returns — if  it's  Good 
Friday,"  Thomas  said  darkly.  "  We'll  have  a  civil  mar- 
riage and  a  church  marriage  later." 

"  I  hope  you'll  see  her  soon.  Have  you  any  idea  where 
she  is?" 

"  Her  letters  come  from  the  city,  but  sometimes  I  think 
she's  on  the  Island.  She's  terribly  queer  about  her  bad 
cases.  She  did  let  us  in  on  the  typhoid  at  Grandville,  but 
then  typhoid  isn't  catching !  " 

He  rose  to  go.  He  seemed  happier,  but  the  strained, 
searching  look  in  his  eyes  hurt  Divine  and  impelled  him  to 
put  a  fatherly  arm  about  the  young  man's  shoulders. 

"  Be  patient.  Be  brave.  Keep  caring  always,  then  you 
lift  your  love  above  selfishness." 

"  Oh,  I've  been  disciplined  all  right,"  said  Thomas.  "  I 
expect  it's  not  done  yet." 

"  No,  it's  never  done;  it's  as  long  as  life  itself." 

They  shook  hands  at  the  rectory  door,  and  Divine 
watched  the  young  fellow  as  he  strode  away  down  the 
carriage  drive.  A  warm  wind  came  up  the  valley,  caressed 
the  priest's  cheek,  and  brought  to  his  senses  the  half- 


346  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

melancholy  wonder  of  the  Spring.  In  its  vital  resurrections, 
typified  by  the  great  Feast  of  Life,  how  few  of  his  flock 
were  sharing! 

Divine  was  suddenly  conscious  of  a  black  cloud  about 
him,  of  a  horrid  depression  of  spirits,  of  a  sense  of  some- 
thing irremediably  wrong.  Where  was  Patricia  ?  And  why 
did  Neal  Carmichael  turn  so  white  when  Murphy  was  an- 
nounced ?  Did  Neal  know  where  she  was  and  why  she  was 
in  hiding?  Divine  was  always  more  solicitous  and  more 
watchful  over  those  members  of  his  congregation  whom 
he  knew  to  be  unhappy  than  over  the  care-free.  Unhappy 
people  sinned  more  easily  than  the  joyous,  were  farther 
from  the  life  of  the  Spirit. 

"  God  be  with  you,  Thomas  Murphy,"  he  said,  half- 
aloud,  for  the  trudging  figure  was  still  visible.  "  You  may 
have  to  suffer;  as  for  Carmichael — suffering  isn't  in  the 
future  for  him." 

Patricia,  upon  leaving  the  church,  had  remembered  to 
pull  down  her  thick  veil  and  to  draw  her  cloak  closely  about 
her  throat.  Thus  screened  from  chance  observation,  she 
began  her  walk  down  the  long  lane  in  the  direction  of  the 
marshes.  Her  step  was  lighter  than  it  had  been  for  days, 
as  if  an  actual  physical  load  had  been  lifted  from  her 
shoulders.  Whatever  happened,  Jack  Carmichael  would 
aid  her  design  to  protect  her  family,  would  keep  in  mind 
her  history.  To  talk  with  him  had  been  to  open  a  window 
in  her  prison.  Until  then  she  had  not  realized  the  full  dark- 
ness of  her  isolation,  her  utter  removal  from  the  outside 
world.  With  gratitude  she  remembered  his  deference  to  her, 
a  deference  so  undeserved,  yet  all  the  more  appreciated  for 
that  reason.  What  she  was  Patricia  no  longer  knew,  for 
she  had  passed  beyond  the  simplicities  of  nomenclature. 

As  she  walked  along  the  lane,  the  apparition  of  a  figure 
approaching  her  from  the  opposite  direction  suddenly  turned 
her  cold,  set  her  heart  thumping.  His  hands  were  back  of 
him,  his  head  was  bowed,  he  walked  in  entire  indifference 
to  his  surroundings,  very  swiftly,  as  if  pursued.  Would 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  347 

he  recognize  her?  Not  in  that  black  cloak  and  veil.  Yet 
she  feared  that  her  own  overwhelming  consciousness  of  him 
might,  like  an  aura,  surround  her,  betray  her,  forcing  him  to 
pierce  her  disguise.  She  quickened  her  footsteps,  for  the 
impulse  to  cry  out  to  him,  to  tell  him  again  how  wildly 
she  had  loved  him,  was  almost  like  an  audible  message  al- 
ready given  to  the  transmissive  air.  But  she  had  no  words 
for  him  save  those  of  love,  and  sin  must  not  be  added  to 
sin.  Pushing  on,  she  passed  him,  her  ears  strained  for  the 
cry,  "  Patricia !  "  But  silence  enveloped  her.  Had  she 
seen  a  vision? 

A  little  curve  of  the  road  disclosed  the  agitated  form 
of  Lil.  Patricia  wondered  if  Neal  had  seen  Mrs.  Brent- 
wood  or  talked  with  her? 

These  questions  were  soon  answered  with  some  lack  of 
coherence  by  Lil  herself,  who  seized  upon  Patricia  and  drew 
her  into  the  orchard.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  the  lies  I've  told !  " 

"Lies?    Oh,  Lily!" 

"  He's  come  after  you — after  your  address,  I  mean.  He's 
plainly  worried.  But  don't  think  I  told.  Not  I!  I  faced 
him  down  that  we  hadn't  had  a  letter  from  you  for  weeks, 
was  anxious  ourselves  !  " 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  Patricia  whispered,  her  face  color- 
less. Lil  was  sure  now  of  what  she  had  before  only  sus- 
pected. 

"  He  didn't  seem  satisfied.  Maybe  he  knew  I  was  hidin' 
somethin'.  He  looked  worried.  But  he  went  off  at  last, 
just  before  you  came." 

"  I'm  glad  you  didn't — tell  him  anything,"  Patricia  fal- 
tered. With  a  sad  smile  she  added,  "  I'll  leave  you  before 
long,  then  you  won't  have  to  do  these  things  for  me — 
these  wrong  things." 

"  As  if  it  could  hurt  me  when  it's  done  for  you,  my 
dear!" 

She  was  crying  a  little  now  and  caressing  Patricia's 
hands.  "  I  am  worried  when  you  stay  away  long.  Mr. 
Carmichael  looked  awful  bad.  It  was  hard  not  to  tell  him 
you  was  safe  here,  safe  with  Jim  and  me  who  love  you ! " 


348  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Patricia  soothed  her.  "  Don't  cry !  Only  promise  me 
that  if  anything  happens  to  me,  you  11  not  give  up  the 
child  to  anyone  but — its  father, — or  let  it  be  known  whose 
it  is!  Promise,  Lil!" 

She  lifted  the  woman's  right  arm  solemnly.  A  flare  of 
sunset  light  enveloped  them  like  a  sacrificial  flame,  invest- 
big  their  figures  with  a  transient  mystic  glory. 

"  I  promise  by  the  coming  of  the  tides  and  the  rising  of 
the  sun.  Oh,  you'll  be  happy  yet  You  haven't  seen  the 
end  of  joy  yet." 

After  supper  that  night  Patricia  wrote  a  letter,  as  the 
only  way  to  quiet  the  agitation  that  had  racked  her  since 
her  brief  vision  of  Neal  and  the  news  that  he  had  come  to 
inquire  for  her.  To  write  his  name  released  her  for  a 
moment  from  the  tyranny  of  emotions  too  powerful. 

"  Dearest,"  she  wrote,  "  I  saw  you  this  afternoon.  It 
was  like  a  sword  in  my  side  to  go  by  you  without  speak- 
ing; but,  Neal,  only  my  being  forever  out  of  your  life  can 
make  that  time  on  the  Southmarsh  road  even  bearable  in 
our  thoughts.  I  loved  you  so !  I  never  meant  to  go  wrong ! 
I  just  wanted  you ! 

"Dearest,  I  still  love  you.  I  shall  go  out  of  life  when 
my  time  comes,  loving  you.  Perhaps  if  I  am  faithful  God 
may  pity  me.  You  see,  I  can't  pray  much  these  days,  but 
I  do  pray  for  you! 

"I  can  hear  the  tide  coming  in.  Sometimes  it  sounds 
cruel,  as  if  it  wanted  what  it  could  grind  and  crush.  Life 
is  like  that  My  dear,  I  hope  you  at  least  will  be  happy 
some  day.  We  missed  the  road. 

"Good-night  I  must  stop,  for  I  will  write  wrong 
things.  I  will  write  of  my  need  of  you.  I  will  call  you 
mine. 

"  PATRICIA." 

She  did  not  read  over  what  she  had  written,  but  after 
a  while  she  took  the  letter  into  the  sitting-room  and  placed 
it  upon  the  burning  embers  of  the  hearth. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

"  Do  consider  it,  Ada,"  the  letter  ran.  "  I  am  not  writ- 
ing to  you  as  I  did  years  ago,  because  we  are  both  older; 
and  you  at  least  never  cared  for  fine  phrases.  But  you 
know  I  care  for  you — more  than  ever. 

"  That  diplomatic  post  is  mine  for  the  asking,  I  have 
influence  with  the  Government.  For  God's  sake,  before 
the  Liberals  get  in,  say  you'll  be  divorced.  I'll  join  you  out 
West  when  the  decree's  granted,  and  we'll  go  on  to  China. 
You'll  like  the  East.  It's  a  good  place  to  forget  trouble. 
It's  a  good  place  to  take  up  a  new  life.  I  think  you'll 
find  a  Legation  amusing.  The  East  would  be  a  novelty 
anyway." 

The  letter  ended  with  precise  particulars  for  her  guid- 
ance. Ada,  half  amused,  half  flattered  by  the  bold,  con- 
fident tone  Wentworth  had  assumed,  put  the  sheets  on  her 
desk  where  a  soft  Spring  air  fluttered  them,  drew  from  them 
a  little  whispering  voice  of  temptation.  It  did  sound  allur- 
ing— the  East  and  the  cosmopolitan  society  of  a  legation, 
with  the  ineffectual  Carmichaels  left  behind  forever. 

Though  it  was  Easter  Sunday,  no  one  had  gone  to 
church.  The  senior  Carmichael  was  too  feeble.  Jack  had 
started  on  a  walk,  giving  as  a  reason  that  he  felt  "  de- 
pressed." Neal  was  mooning  somewhere  in  the  library. 
Ada,  of  late,  had  dropped  even  the  conventional  observances 
of  religion.  Divine  made  her  uncomfortable  with  his  ser- 
mons that  were  sometimes  like  a  sword  in  the  poignancy  of 
their  appeal.  Since  she  could  neither  forget  nor  combat 
them  she  was  resolved  not  to  hear  them.  They  were  too 
much  as  if  Neal's  gropings,  cleared  of  clouds,  were  con- 
centrated in  a  final  elucidation. 

Why  not  get  the  divorce?  Why  not  leave  this  house 
where  nothing  happened,  where  the  experiment  of  one  mar- 

349 


350  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

riage  had  ended  in  shifting  sands  and  shallows — neither 
land  nor  sea?  She  had  nothing  to  give  this  family  but 
money ;  they  had  nothing  to  give  her  but  the  resentment  of 
those  who  have  experienced  a  rescue  from  material  ship- 
wreck without  a  corresponding  gain  of  spiritual  advantage. 
Neal  had  shown  how  sharp  his  sense  of  disadvantage  was 
by  throwing  over  the  only  career  for  which  he  was  fitted. 
Maria  had  retired  in  tears  from  the  ill-adjusted  circle.  Jack 
had  played  fair  according  to  his  lights. 

But  she  was  weary  of  all  of  them — weary  of  the  Island, 
weary  of  a  blameless  husband  who  would  never  give  her 
"  cause  "  for  a  divorce.  Perhaps  if  she  left  him  the  apathy 
of  his  days  might  be  broken.  He  might  again  write,  or 
return  to  those  general  problems  of  humanity,  so  fascinating 
as  a  rule,  Ada  reflected  contemptuously,  to  people  who 
couldn't  run  one  day  of  their  own  lives  successfully. 

Csecilia  was  coming  home.  She  might  as  well  be  mistress 
of  Carmichael  House  and  comfort  the  last  days  of  the 
senile  Alexander  Carmich'ael. 

Ada  rose  and  went  to  her  window,  humming  a  little  tune 
— an  old  French  chanson  which  she  had  learned  as  a  child 
in  Paris — about  May  flowers,  and  skipping  lambs  that  wore 
blue  ribbons  around  their  throats.  The  prospect  of  this 
divorce  had  actually  made  her  light-hearted. 

Beneath  her  gaze  the  gardens  of  Carmichael  House  un- 
folded mistily  green.  She  had  grown  to  love  them,  and 
to  understand,  to  a  degree,  the  charm  of  the  mansion  they 
surrounded.  Yet  there  was  something  about  it,  like  the 
palace  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  that  held  its  inhabitants  in  a 
day-dream,  a  spell  she  wanted  to  throw  off  in  the  solid 
sureties  of  Wentworth's  British  presence.  If  she  remained 
longer  she  might  be  bewitched  into  a  love  for  these  old 
walls  and  wandering  garden  paths,  as  Neal  had  been  when 
she  saved  for  him  his  inheritance. 

The  morning  was  too  beautiful  to  be  indoors.  Going 
down  to  the  library,  she  appeared,  to  her  husband's  sur- 
prise, before  him,  laying  her  hand  over  the  pages  of  the 
book  he  was  reading. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  351 

"  Come  and  ride,"  she  said.  "  Don't  stay  in  this  dark 
room.  I  want  a  breath  of  air." 

He  rose  with  alacrity,  for  his  thoughts  had  not  been  of 
the  pleasantest.  "  That's  a  good  idea,  Ada.  How  long 
will  it  take  you  to  -change  ?  " 

"  Fifteen  minutes.    And  you?  " 

"  Even  less.  I'll  call  up  the  stables  and  tell  them  to 
bring  the  horses  around." 

He  got  into  his  riding  clothes,  wondering  what  had  come 
over  Ada;  but  he  was  glad  of  her  summons.  As  once  he 
had  sought  Patricia  to  forget  Ada,  so  now  he  sought  his 
wife  to  forget  a  woman  whose  image  was  with  him  night 
and  day,  of  whom  he  could  not  think  without  depression, 
dark,  formless,  menacing. 

Ada  came  down,  on  time  to  the  minute,  looking  extraor- 
dinarily well  in  her  riding  clothes.  She  thought  the  same 
of  Neal  as  he  stood  feeding  his  favorite  mare  sugar.  Went- 
worth  had  not  Neal's  distinction  of  bearing;  but  then  no 
husband  summed  up  all  advantages!  Wentworth  was  at 
least  free  from  the  melancholy  taint  of  those  who  hunger 
for  the  unseen,  forgetting  life's  present  joys. 

Neal  assisted  her  to  mount,  then  rode  off  beside  her  in 
the  bright  April  sunshine. 

"  Let  us  follow  the  lanes,"  she  said. 

He  nodded ;  and  putting  their  mounts  neck  and  neck,  they 
went  on  into  the  byways  of  the  Island,  coming  out  at  last 
near  the  house  which  Thomas  Murphy  had  built  for 
Patricia. 

Ada  drew  rein  and  gazed  at  it  thoughtfully.  On  one 
of  the  porches  a  little  group  was  assembled,  whose  mem- 
bers were  distinguishable  even  from  a  distance  as  com- 
posing the  McCoy  family  and  Dr.  Murphy  and  his  son. 

"  Ah,"  Ada  said,  "  I  wonder  when  Patricia  means  to 
live  in  it." 

Neal  was  silent.  Even  the  most  casual  answer  might 
betray  the  tumult  he  was  trying  to  hide  behind  a  set  face 
and  an  indifferent  manner. 

"  Where  next,  Ada  ?  "  he  said,  at  last. 


352  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  Anywhere !    How  would  the  Southmarsh  road  do  ?  " 

He  felt  as  if  he  were  choking,  but  he  managed  to  answer, 
"  Quite  all  right." 

They  entered  it  at  a  point  below  where  the  ascent  of  the 
hill  began. 

"  Which  way  ?  "  he  questioned,  hoping  she  would  indi- 
cate the  marshes. 

"  Uphill,  of  course,  we'll  get  more  air." 

They  rode  on.  He  had,  since  that  day  in  July,  avoided 
the  Southmarsh  road  as  if  it  were  plague-infested.  Now  a 
prank  of  destiny  was  sending  him  again  past  the  fateful 
house ! 

Ada  had  reined  in  her  horse  and  was  gazing  at  him  with 
alarm.  "  What's  the  matter  ?  Do  you  feel  faint  ?  " 

"  My  head  aches." 

"  You  are  working  too  hard.  Why  do  you  work  so 
hard?" 

"  I  want  to  make  money." 

"  Your  voice  sounds  like  a  parrot's  when  you  say  that. 
Money!  Forgive  me,  but  you  shouldn't  have  tempted  the 
gods.  I  had  money  for  us  both,  but  you  were  proud.  It's 
the  sin  of  angels,  I  know;  but  you  had  better  taken  what 
I  had  to  give,  so  that  you  could  have  given  me  what  I  most 
wanted  of  you." 

She  spoke  with  a  simple  directness  in  which  for  once 
was  no  coquetry,  no  second  intention.  For  a  moment  the 
whole  landscape  was  lifted  into  a  clearer  air.  The  two 
were  an  instant  together  in  that  perfect  understanding 
which  his  soul  had  once  craved  as  the  thirsty  crave  water. 

"  I  have  disappointed  you,  Ada.  Well,  I  have  disap- 
pointed myself." 

The  words,  "  We'll  be  better  apart,"  sprang  to  her  lips 
but  she  did  not  utter  them.  He  would  know  soon  enough 
that  he  was  free — free  and  provided  for.  She  would  as 
soon  have  thought  of  leaving  him  without  provision  as  of 
leaving  his  old  grandfather  without  a  roof.  No  charity  on 
her  part;  merely  another  manifestation  of  the  something 
in  the  Carmichael  character  which  demanded  an  argosy 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  353 

from  the  concealing  mists  of  life;  something  that  looked 
out  of  their  dark  eyes  and  aloof  faces.  They  were  a  help- 
less, fascinating  race,  whose  good  looks  had  saved  them 
blows. 

The  riders  proceeded  up  the  hill.  Ada  never  even 
glanced  at  the  ruined  farm-house.  Neal  had  recovered  his 
self-possession,  not  again  to  lose  it. 

That  same  morning  Patricia  was  seated  in  her  little  room 
with  no  deeper  thought  than  a  mental  expression  of  relief 
that  her  sister-nurse,  Miss  Ward,  too  sad  and  solicitous  on 
her  account,  had  left  her  for  a  while  to  herself.  Even  the 
ringing  of  the  church  bells  had  failed  to  arouse  her  from  her 
physical  lassitude ;  for  now  she  had  arrived  at  that  crisis  in 
which  natural,  material  conditions  dominate  and  obscure 
the  spiritual  aspects  of  personality.  For  the  present  at 
least  even  the  mental  warfare  incident  to  her  anomalous  state 
was  hushed  to  rest.  Subdued,  heavily  patient,  incapable  of 
sustained  thought,  she  awaited  her  hour — the  hour  beyond 
which  she  must  resume  difficult  problems  involving  two, 
not  one. 

A  faint  noise  of  horses'  hoofs  in  the  lane  drew  her  eyes 
from  the  indoor  scene.  Proceeding  up  the  road  towards 
the  church  she  saw  two  figures  on  horseback  whom  she 
instantly  recognized,  Ada  shining  out  with  the  bright  clear 
detachment  that  Patricia  remembered  when,  as  a  little  girl, 
she  stepped  proudly  across  the  lawn  at  Neal's  party. 

She  watched  the  two  as  if  they  had  been  a  part  of  a 
pageant  moving  across  a  wide  remote  stage.  They  rode  on 
and  on,  their  voices  coming  faintly  to  her.  They  were  to 
ride  on  forever  side  by  side  in  open  married  state  approved 
by  the  world,  while  she !  With  a  cry  she  rose,  stagger- 
ing, holding  her  arms  out  in  the  form  of  a  cross. 

"  Christ,  oh,  Christ !  "  she  moaned. 

Upon  the  utterance  of  the  words  her  brain  cleared  a 
little,  but  a  mortal  weakness  seized  her  and  she  sank  upon 
the  side  of  the  bed.  Suddenly  the  door  opened  and  Miss 
Ward  came  in. 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

ON  a  day  in  April  when  Spring  had  put  on  the  abundant 
verdure  and  warmth  of  Summer,  Patricia  walked  beyond 
the  doors  of  the  farm-house  for  the  first  time  since  the 
birth  of  her  child,  and  looked  upon  a  world  that  bore  a 
face  of  smiling  indifference  to  her  and  her  problems. 

Clasped  closely  in  her  arms  was  the  baby,  upon  whose 
little  face  she  would  from  time  to  time  direct  a  look  of 
poignant  interrogation  mingled  with  passionate  tenderness. 
In  these  moments  when  the  maternal  instinct  dominated 
her,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  accompanying  shadows,  her  face 
became  clear,  vivid,  almost  sexless  in  its  detached,  mournful 
beauty. 

Some  days  of  fever,  added  to  her  continual  mental  anx- 
iety, had  taken  from  her  all  traces  of  the  experience  of 
maternity.  She  appeared  tall,  slender  and  virginal  as  she 
stood,  white  and  tremulous,  in  the  searching  sunlight,  which 
she  shielded  from  the  child's  eyes  with  her  hand.  The 
curves  of  her  mouth  were  resolute ;  her  eyes,  around  which 
were  faint  blue  shadows,  held  a  concentration  of  purpose 
connected  with  a  plan  of  obliteration,  soon  to  be  carried  out. 

The  coming  of  the  child  had  invested  her  with  a  new, 
solemn  authority,  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  ethics  or 
the  terms  of  its  entrance  into  the  world — an  authority  in- 
creased by  the  fact  that,  for  the  time  being  at  least,  it 
could  know  but  one  parent.  Patricia  represented  its  endow- 
ment, its  universe,  its  bridge  to  its  future  life. 

She  had  accepted  the  trust  with  passionate  courage.  As 
soon  as  her  strength  had  fully  returned  she  meant  to  leave 
the  Island.  The  few  hundred  dollars  she  had  saved  would 
secure  her  from  want  until  she  could  find  work.  She 
desired  that  Neal's  son  should  have  some  of  the  finer 
privileges  of  existence,  should  be  educated,  if  not  for  the 

354 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  355 

place  of  a  gentleman,  then  for  that  of  a  good  and  useful 
man.  Perhaps  God  would  accept  her  years  of  service  for 
this  child  as  penance,  as  a  kind  of  vicarious  purgation.  If 
she  could  not  pray  for  herself,  a  sinner,  she  could  pray  for 
the  soul  of  her  little  son.  God  might  hear  her  through  his 
voice,  discern  her  spirit  through  his,  and  have  mercy  upon 
her. 

Miss  Ward  had  gone,  after  invaluable  service,  which 
included  the  registry  of  the  birth  without  betraying  details. 
Though  Patricia  had  never  asked  her  silence,  her  fellow- 
worker  had  promised  it  with  something  of  the  solemnity  of 
a  religious  rite. 

Jim  and  Lil  lived  in  a  state  of  perpetual  wonder  over 
the  newcomer.  The  circumstances  of  their  former  lives 
having  removed  them  both  from  contact  with  children, 
Patricia's  baby  had  for  them  a  miraculous  importance, 
drawing  from  them  vows  that  the  mother  never  heard, 
vows  of  protection,  of  cherishing,  of  fidelity  to  Patricia's 
wish  that  its  existence  be  revealed  only  to  the  father. 
Lil  had  already  named  him  in  her  mind,  with  mental  adjura- 
tion to  come  and  claim  such  a  treasure  of  a  woman  as 
Patricia  was — to  right  her  wrongs,  who  was  so  silent  and 
defenseless. 

Patricia  herself  never  expected  to  meet  Neal  again. 
The  coming  of  the  child  had  pushed  back  into  the  closed 
and  finished  past  the  image  of  the  man  for  whose  sake  she 
had  known  shipwreck.  In  the  future  she  and  her  little 
son  alone  were  accounted  for. 

Seeing  that  the  child  had  fallen  asleep,  she  carried  him 
to  a  room  under  the  eaves  of  the  farm-house,  an  im- 
provised nursery,  which,  to  guard  against  accidents  of 
discovery,  was  kept  locked.  Then  she  returned  to  the 
garden  to  frame  mentally  the  letters  she  must  soon  write. 

As  she  paced  up  and  down  between  the  beds  of  iris, 
Patricia  thought  with  sharp  anguish  of  her  father  and  her 
mother — of  the  poor  lover  who  had  waited  in  vain  for  her. 
Far  as  she  was  severed  from  them  by  her  guilt,  remote  as 
their  faces  were,  they  still  had  power  to  smite  her  with 


356  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

reproach,  to  turn  the  light  of  the  fairest  April  day  to 
heavy  darkness. 

To  have  strength  to  go  on  at  all  she  must  by  a  distinct 
effort  of  the  will  close  the  doors  of  her  mind  upon  the  past. 
Already  she  had  experienced  the  destructive  power  of  re- 
morse— like  the  suction  of  a  hidden  tide  undermining  the 
very  foundations  of  her  being.  Whatever  had  happened, 
she  must  proceed  from  its  logic,  not  from  the  premises  of 
her  former  life. 

Someone  was  approaching  the  house  through  the  or- 
chards. She  turned  to  go  indoors,  but,  recognizing  the 
visitor  in  that  instant  as  Jack  Carmichael,  she  advanced  to 
meet  him. 

Their  conventional  greetings  over,  Patricia  answered  the 
unspoken  questions  in  the  face  of  this  kinsman  of  Neal's, 
whose  real  solicitude  for  her  had  brought  him  to  the  farm. 
The  news  she  had  to  give  him  he  received  almost  without 
comment,  but  with  an  earnest  scrutiny  of  her  as  if  to  in- 
terpret her  in  this  new  character. 

"  And  your  plans  ?  " 

"  I  shall  go  away — somewhere — in  another  fortnight." 

"  Don't  you — haven't  you  need  of  money  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  need  anything,  Mr.  Carmichael." 

"  And  you  forbid  me  to  speak  to  my  nephew  ?  " 

"  Absolutely — unless  in  the  event  of  my  death." 

"  You  will  keep  me  informed  of  your  address  ?  " 

"  I  will  keep  you  informed." 

"  And  you  will  let  me  know  if  you  are  ever  in  want?  " 

"  I  shall  never  be  in  want." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Patricia ;  life  takes  queer  jumps  some- 
times." 

"  I  am  strong.  I  can  work.  I  have  a  little  money  saved. 
But  indeed  I  thank  you !  You've  been  very  good  to  me." 

"  You  are  much  in  my  mind,"  Jack  said.  "  You  are — 
a  noble  woman,  Patricia." 

"  No,"  she  said  simply.  "  I  have  done  wrong,  and  I  must 
take  the  consequences." 

There  was  a  finality  in  her  statement  that  he  did  not 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  357 

question.  To  Jack's  semi-pagan  mind,  this  woman  had 
obeyed  a  natural  impulse,  controverting  society,  but  rang- 
ing herself  after  all  with  the  force  that  brought  the  buds 
to  flower  and  the  flower  to  fruit.  Yet  he  saw  that  she 
acknowledged  some  deeper  law,  and  believed  in  her  trans- 
gression of  it. 

He  shook  hands  with  her,  and  went  reluctantly  away, 
with  a  sense  of  something  unfinished,  hauntingly  abbre- 
viated; of  words  that  could  never  now  be  uttered,  assur- 
ances that  could  never  be  given.  Once  he  had  an  impulse 
to  turn  back  and  beg  her  to  let  him  be  of  service  to  her;  or 
else  to  entreat  her  forgiveness  in  the  name  of  his  race. 
Something  more  than  faith  in  her  own  powers  of  recon- 
struction withheld  her  from  accepting  bounty  of  the  Car- 
michaels.  Jack  had  read  in  her  eyes  that,  under  what  her 
lips  had  named  sin,  there  lingered,  for  her,  even  in  the  midst 
of  desolation,  something  sacred. 

The  ascending  sun  brought  with  it  increased  heat  until 
summer  temperature  reigned.  A  lazy  air  stole  from  the  sea, 
salt,  hot  and  sleep-inducing.  The  flowers  in  the  garden 
looked  as  if  put  into  a  kind  of  trance,  so  still  were  their 
stalks  and  their  wide-opened  petals.  The  scent  of  the  apple 
blossoms,  oppressively  sweet,  mingled  with  the  odor  of 
drying  grass  which  Jim  had  lately  cut  and  spread  to  the 
hot  sun.  Patricia  sought  the  cool  interior  of  the  farm- 
house, where  Lil  was  at  her  household  tasks.  Her  face 
brightened  upon  the  entrance  of  her  guest. 

"  I've  been  thinkin'  how  much  I'd  miss  you,"  Lil  com- 
mented, "  when  you  go  for  good  and  all.  I  miss  you  now 
when  you're  just  a  little  ways  off  in  the  garden." 

"  We  must  write  to  each  other.  And  you  will  tell  me 
about  going  to  church  in  the  new  dress." 

They  both  smiled.  The  shining  lengths  of  silk  were 
already  in  a  drawer  awaiting  Lil's  convenience  to 
"  make  up." 

Patricia  returned  after  a  while  to  her  child's  nursery,  for 
she  was  never  long  happy  away  from  him.  His  helplessness 
gave  her  courage  to  go  on.  When  he  was  not  in  her  arms 


358  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

her  sin  was  ever  before  her.  Lying  upon  her  breast,  he 
absorbed  her  by  his  utter  need  of  her. 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  she  took  him  and 
went  out  to  an  old  deserted  wharf  near  the  mill,  the  last 
of  a  series,  marking  certain  deep  places  in  the  channel  and 
the  only  one  no  longer  used,  though  boats  came  but  seldom 
to  the  others. 

Jim  had  made  a  broad  wooden  seat  with  a  comfortable 
back  on  this  wharf,  and  here  Patricia  sat,  her  long  cloak 
about  her,  which  she  arranged  so  that  the  little  body  on  her 
lap  was  concealed  and  the  sleeping  eyes  were  shielded  from 
the  sun.  Patricia  was  not  wholly  in  possession  of  her 
strength,  for  the  child  was  scarcely  three  weeks  old,  and 
she  drooped  in  the  heavy  air,  as  the  garden  flowers  were 
drooping.  The  waters  of  the  marsh-channels,  reflecting  the 
heat-haze,  appeared  of  a  metallic  blue,  sullen  and  sluggish, 
though  beneath  their  deceptive  surface  the  tide  was  already 
stealing.  The  lap  of  the  waters  against  the  timbers  of  the 
wharf  sounded  pleasantly  in  Patricia's  ears ;  and  she  drifted 
off  into  dreams,  waking  occasionally  to  assure  herself  that 
the  child  slept,  and  that  the  waters  of  the  marsh-channel 
were  empty  of  craft. 

James  McCoy  had  directed  his  tug  to  a  certain  brick- 
yard on  the  mainland  side  of  the  Kill,  there  to  take  in  tow 
a  flatboat  whose  contents  were  to  be  delivered  in  the  in- 
terior of  the  Island.  These  operations,  begun  in  the  heat 
of  an  abnormally  warm  April  day,  had  been  carried  on 
with  some  delays  and  with  unusual  hesitancy  and  uncer- 
tainty on  the  part  of  the  captain. 

McCoy,  a  man  of  regular  habits  and  set  ideas,  was  some- 
what surprised  at  his  own  recent  rickety  temper  and  general 
inclination  to  explode  over  trifles.  He  could  not  inform 
his  crew  that  the  day  had  begun  inauspiciously  with  a  dis- 
pute between  himself  and  his  wife  that  had  almost  assumed 
the  proportions  of  a  quarrel. 

Patricia's  absence  without  sufficient  explanation  had  be- 
gun to  tell  on  his  nerves,  to  fill  his  mind  with  vague,  miser- 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  359 

able  conjectures.  He  was  for  ending  the  suspense  with 
peremptory  summons  to  her  to  return  and  give  account  of 
herself.  Mrs.  McCoy  had  opposed  this  scheme  on  the 
ground  that  Patricia,  being  of  age  and  self-supporting,  had 
a  perfect  right  to  absent  herself  as  long  as  she  saw  fit; 
and,  furthermore,  that  she  probably  had  good  reasons  for 
so  doing,  which  they  would  know  when  the  proper  time 
came. 

McCoy  had  given  a  grudging  promise  to  take  no  steps 
in  the  matter,  then  had  gone  heavy-eyed  and  heavy-hearted 
to  his  tug. 

It  was  of  Patricia  he  was  thinking  now  as  he  stood  in 
the  bow  of  his  boat  and  gazed  over  the  muddy  waters 
of  the  Kill.  The  tug  steamed  through  the  marsh-channel, 
in  her  wake  a  long  series  of  subsiding  waves  that  swept  the 
sedge,  and  then  retreated,  leaving  a  deposit  of  mud  and 
ooze.  The  broad  marshes  stretched  calmly  away  from  the 
lonely  channel,  until  they  met  the  hills,  an  opening  in  which 
revealed  the  spire  of  St.  Anne's  against  the  narrow  valley 
that  led  to  the  towns.  In  the  foreground  was  the  old  tide- 
water mill  with  its  disused  wharf,  whose  solitary  situation 
was  emphasized  by  a  lonely  figure  upon  it — the  figure,  as 
McCoy  made  out,  of  a  woman  in  a  long,  dark  cloak,  so  mo- 
tionless as  to  attract  more  attention  than  if  her  person  had 
not  been  in  intense  repose. 

Reaching  for  the  glass,  he  scrutinized  her,  the  result  being 
a  sudden  paling  of  his  face,  a  trembling  of  the  hand  that 
held  the  spyglass.  He  recovered  himself  by  an  effort  of 
the  will,  for  the  tug  was  now  edging  by  littles  to  its  destina- 
tion, poking  its  nose  carefully  through  winding  channels  on 
half-steam.  A  half-hour  of  adjustments  followed  before  the 
flatboat  was  comfortably  tied  up  to  its  dock,  and  the  cap- 
tain was  free  to  approach  the  figure  on  the  deserted  wharf. 

His  heart  leaped  exultantly  as  he  drew  near  and  cer- 
tainly recognized  her.  She  seemed  to  be  in  the  sleep  of 
exhaustion,  for  she  was  huddled  in  a  corner  of  the  bench, 
her  cheek  resting  against  the  hard  wooden  back.  Her  deli- 
cate profile  shone  with  cameo  clearness,  yet  even  in  repose 


36o  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

the  features  betrayed  some  intricacy  of  feeling  which,  like 
the  hieroglyphics  of  a  monolith,  could  be  read  only  by  those 
possessing  the  key.  Nothing  in  McCoy's  knowledge  of  his 
daughter  gave  him  that  key. 

McCoy  tiptoed  nearer,  his  face  at  once  joyful  and  hag- 
gard, drew  close  enough  to  see  that  what  Patricia  sheltered 
beneath  her  clinging  hands  was  a  tiny  infant  upon  which 
he  gazed  at  first  without  realization  of  its  relationship  to 
her  who  held  it.  Patricia  had  stood  by  some  woman  in 
her  need — that  was  all ! 

Upon  the  heels  of  this  supposition  came  ugly  questions. 
If  this  were  merely  a  confinement  case,  and  not  one  involv- 
ing infection,  why  had  she  hidden  her  address?  Why  had 
she ? 

A  horrible  fear  gripped  him,  seemed  to  leap  up  from  the 
tide  itself,  like  a  shapeless  obscene  monster  born  of  the 
mud.  Good  God !  What  if ! 

In  his  agony  he  cried  aloud.  The  sharp,  guttural  sound 
awoke  her;  and  her  very  first  gesture,  the  drawing  of  the 
cloak  over  the  baby's  face,  betrayed  her  like  a  declaration. 
She  stared  helplessly  at  her  father,  her  cheeks  still  pink 
from  sleep  but  giving  up  their  color  fast,  as  she  realized 
that  the  figure  towering  above  her,  devouring  her  face  with 
silent  tragic  intensity  of  interrogation,  was  not  a  figment 
of  a  dream.  To  confirm  his  identity  the  black  funnel  of 
the  Mary  McCoy  was  silhouetted  in  the  distance  against 
the  setting  sun. 

"  Patricia !  "  he  said  in  a  terrible  voice.  "  Whose  child 
is  that?  Where  are  you  living?" 

She  made  no  answer,  though  he  saw  the  muscles  of  her 
throat  move  convulsively.  Her  hollow  eyes  stared  at  him 
with  a  fear  in  their  depths  that  he  was  to  remember  until 
he  died.  A  queer,  weak  sound  came  from  her  lips  at  last, 
like  that  of  a  small  animal  caught  in  a  trap  and  bleeding 
to  death.  She  put  out  supplicating  hands ;  he  struck  at  them 
blindly. 

"  You !    You !  "  he  cried. 

He  knew.     He  understood.     She  read  it  in  his  look  of 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  361 

horror,  in  his  accusing  cry,  then  in  the  bowed,  retreating 
back  aged  into  the  semblance  of  senility,  in  the  odd,  totter- 
ing run,  as  if  his  trembling  limbs  were  being  forced  by 
shame  of  her  and  of  what  she  had  become  to  bear  him 
quickly  from  her  guilty  presence. 

She  tried  to  cry  out,  to  call  him  back,  but  no  sound  came 
from  her  despair.  With  dilated  eyes  she  watched  him 
going  down  the  towpath,  and  when  he  neared  the  tug  she 
saw  him  straighten  his  body,  and  knew  it  was  his  effort 
to  conceal  the  effects  of  what  he  had  seen  from  his  crew. 

Mortal  weakness  seized  her.  Horror  like  a  palpable  black 
cloud  rose  from  the  water,  enveloped  her,  hid  the  child 
from  her  sight.  She  thought  that  she  had  gone  blind, 
and  instinctively  clutched  the  baby  to  her  breast  with  such 
force  that  he  cried  out.  Hidden  away  here,  she  had  half 
forgotten  what  kind  of  a  woman  she  was — but  her  father 
knew.  His  accusing  cry,  "  You !  You !  "  like  an  anathema 
from  the  altar,  brought  her  out  of  her  dreams  of  recon- 
struction into  a  dreadful  sanity. 

She  tried  to  pray,  for  she  felt  herself  already  swinging 
above  a  gulf;  but  God  had  forgotten  her.  Never  now 
could  she  work  out  that  penance.  Her  father's  face  had 
become  the  world's  face.  She  knew  at  last  what  she  was. 

Whether  she  stood  there  hours  or  moments,  she  did  not 
know ;  but  she  was  aware  at  last  that  the  sun  had  set,  and 
the  Mary  McCoy  was  steaming  away  to  the  west. 

In  despair  she  withdrew  her  gaze  from  it  to  the  swift, 
smooth  current  of  the  tide-water,  letting  her  will  follow  it, 
obedient  to  the  strange  power  which  quickly  running  water 
has  over  the  heart  and  mind  of  the  unhappy.  She  thought 
of  the  ocean  to  which  it  returned,  as  mysterious  and  in- 
scrutable as  death  itself,  its  caverns  sacred  from  the  visita- 
tions of  time  and  the  accidents  of  fate.  Her  oppressed  spirit 
seemed  sinking  to  those  untrodden  floors  where  lost  ships 
pointed  ghostly  fingers  to  the  light  they  should  never  know 
again. 

Death  drew  her,  a  whisper  of  the  illimitable  water  to 
which  this  tide  now  surged.  Flecks  of  foam  like  white  eyes, 


362  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

through  which  no  mind  looked,  showed  for  a  moment  on 
the  surface,  then  disappeared. 

The  warm  body  pressed  against  her  heart  stirred  faintly. 
Lifting  one  of  the  little  hands,  she  kissed  it  passionately, 
as  if  he  were  dying  with  her.  Their  time  was  short  together 
in  the  deluding  brightness  of  the  Spring,  for  the  dreadful 
simplicity  of  suicide  lured  her  beyond  the  condemning 
voices,  beyond  even  the  great  voice  of  her  Church  with 
its  authority  over  her  in  the  shadowy  landscapes  of  an 
unseen  world.  Seduction  was  in  the  thought  of  this  quick 
mastery  of  circumstance. 

Raising  her  eyes,  she  saw  that  the  tug  was  now  but  a 
black  speck  in  the  distance.  She  pictured  her  father's  return 
home,  his  broken,  despairing  story  to  her  mother,  her 
mother's  incredulity  and  grief  as  she  was  forced  to  believe, 
to  understand. 

Leaving  her  seat,  she  advanced  slowly  to  the  edge  of  the 
pier,  her  eyes  staring  at  the  self-created  vision  of  her  inevi- 
table end,  the  climax  of  a  logic  which,  from  the  beginning, 
had  held  the  seeds  of  destruction.  Step  by  step  she  drew 
near  the  brink,  her  face  emptied  of  color,  of  emotion,  of 
thought  at  last,  as  if  her  will  was  slowly  changing  all  her 
usual  aspects  in  a  prefigurement  of  the  grave.  Something 
of  the  blankness  of  eternity  overspread  her  features. 

On  the  edge  of  the  sea-worn  timbers  she  paused,  listen- 
ing to  the  water  as  it  sucked  in  and  out  of  the  slimy  green 
crevasses  of  the  ancient  woodwork.  Far  away  the  smoke 
of  the  tug  hung  in  the  warm  air.  In  an  hour  he  would  be 
home — her  father  with  his  incredible  tale,  but  she  would 
never  know  of  their  suffering  in  the  merciful  securities 
of  oblivion. 

The  child  stirred  and  began  to  cry  faintly.  As  it  stirred, 
her  arms,  tense  with  her  agitation,  seemed  for  an  instant 
to  be  letting  her  burden  drop.  With  a  convulsive  gesture 
she  strained  the  baby  to  her  breast,  her  heart  beating  vio- 
lently at  the  thought  of  the  accident  that  might  have  been. 

The  accident!  yet  she  had  meant  to  take  its  life.  Reac- 
tion from  that  horror  set  her  trembling,  brought  her  again 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  363 

into  normality.  Pressing  him  closer,  she  kissed  again  and 
again  the  soft  cheek,  the  hands,  the  downy  head.  His  need 
of  her,  his  right  to  live  was  overcoming  her  own  need  to 
die.  She  could  not  chill  his  warmth,  nor  put  the  little 
moving  mouth  and  the  sweet,  unseeing  eyes  into  that  water. 
His  dependence  upon  her  was  sweeping  everything  before 
it,  even  the  vision  of  shame,  even  the  thought  of  the  suffer- 
ing that  she  must  endure,  and  with  her,  all  those  who  loved 
her.  He  must  live,  and  he  must  have  his  mother. 

To  whom  could  she  turn  ?    The  bell  of  St.  Anne's  tolling 
brought  to  her  mind  Charles  Divine. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

FATHER  CAREW  was  seated  in  his  study  pondering  over 
a  letter  from  his  Bishop  which  had  reached  him  that  even- 
ing, a  comfortable  letter  on  the  whole,  with  nothing  in  it 
to  disturb  the  few  leisure  hours  before  bedtime.  To  this 
period  the  priest  had  been  looking  forward  all  day — a  warm 
April  day  with  after-Lent  languor  and  pagan  revivals  in  its 
hot  sunshine  and  scented  air.  Someone  had  loaned  him  a 
novel,  a  gay  and  innocent  novel,  and  Father  Carew  loved 
a  good  story,  though  for  his  discipline  he  read  but  frugally. 

A  knock  at  the  door  presaged  invasion,  immediately  con- 
firmed by  the  housekeeper's  announcement  that  Mr.  McCoy 
wanted  to  see  his  pastor ;  and  McCoy  himself  brushed  past 
the  woman  with  uncouth  haste  and  the  manner  of  a  man 
under  strong  excitement. 

Father  Carew  took  one  glance  at  his  visitor's  pale,  agi- 
tated face  and  then  closed  the  door  of  the  study. 

"  What's  the  matter,  man  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Father !    How  can  I  tell  you?  " 

"  Sit  down  and  compose  yourself !  " 

"  I  came  straight  to  you.  I  haven't  seen  Mary.  I  had  to 
tell  you  first." 

Father  Carew's  heart  began  to  beat  violently.  For  weeks 
he  had  lived  in  perplexity  and  dread  concerning  a  member 
of  his  congregation,  who  as  a  spiritual  daughter  was  very 
dear  to  him.  The  ghosts  of  all  these  apprehensions  rose, 
a  pale  crowd,  to  answer  the  look  in  McCoy's  eyes;  but 
true  to  a  training  that  forbids  anticipatory  judgment,  the 
priest  waited.  He  must  know  that  he  was  dealing  with 
facts,  not  theories. 

"  You  did  well  to  come  straight  to  me,  James,  and  not 
frighten  women  with  your  eyes.  What  have  they  seen? 
What  have  they  looked  on?" 

364 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  365 

"  Patricia — in  shame !  " 

The  answer  resembled  a  groan  of  despair,  but  Father 
Carew  held  himself  calm.  The  two  ideas  were  not  easily 
correlated — Patricia  and  shame ! 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  he  asked  sternly.  "  What  are 
you  goin'  by  ?  " 

In  disjointed  sentences,  interrupted  often  by  a  sob,  Mc- 
Coy told  of  his  journey  that  afternoon  to  the  old  wharves 
of  the  marsh-channels,  and  of  what  had  happened  there. 
Father  Carew's  pulses  still  recorded  his  human  impulse 
of  fear  and  apprehension,  but  his  affections  were  on  the 
side  of  those  great  laws  of  his  Church  that  forbade  hasty 
judgments.  Putting  a  quieting  hand  on  McCoy's  shoulder, 
he  said,  "And  that's  all,  is  it?" 

"All?    Her  disgrace!    All?" 

"  But,  man,  you  talk  wild.    What  proof  have  you  ?  " 

"A  baby  in  her  lap!" 

Father  Carew  looked  at  him  sternly.  "And  hasn't  Pa- 
tricia had  babies  on  her  lap  for  the  last  twelve  years  ?  She's 
a  nurse !  An'  the  best  on  the  Island !  " 

McCoy  stared,  hesitated.  The  suggestion  was  like  red 
blood  in  his  veins,  giving  him  life.  But  the  memory  of 
her  frightened  eyes,  of  her  shrinking  figure,  of  her  appalling 
silence  soon  reasserted  itself. 

"  Why  didn't  she  say  so  then  ?  If  you'd  have  seen  her 
face,  Father ! " 

"  You  probably  frightened  her  with  your  rough  ways, 
man ;  then  you  come  runnin'  to  me  in  a  panic,  with  your 
foolish  talk  that  I'll  not  believe  without  proof.  If  you  are 
so  ready  to  think  ill  of  your  girl,  I'm  not !  An'  I  know 
Patricia  as  you  don't.  Didn't  I  prepare  her  for  confirma- 
tion? Didn't  I  give  her  first  communion?  Haven't  I  seen 
the  struggles  of  her  noble  mind  an'  her  true  soul  in  the 
confessional  for  years  back?  Who's  the  better  judge  of 
her,  you  or  I  ?  " 

Father  Carew  had  drawn  himself  to  his  full  height.  His 
eyes  were  flashing,  but  he  did  not  realize  that  his  defense 
of  Patricia  was  a  desperate  effort  to  hold  at  bay  his  own 


366  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

fears  concerning  her.  In  his  breast  was  a  weeping,  a  long 
cry  to  God  that  this  distracted  father  might  be  mistaken. 

McCoy  shrank  back  as  if  the  blows  of  a  penance  had 
been  struck  across  his  shoulders.  But  he  doggedly  went  on 
to  justify  his  theory. 

"  Never  before  was  such  secrecy — such  silence !  And 
not  in  the  city  at  all,  but  on  this  Island !  And  no  notable 
case  of  sickness  like  the  typhoid  at  Grandville.  Did  you 
communicate  her  at  Easter  ?  Did  you  confess  her  ?  " 

"  I  did  not,"  the  priest  answered  sharply,  "  but  that's 
not  sayin'  that  Father  Hennessey  down  Green  Branch 
way  didn't  confess  her,  or  Father  Miles  over  at  Fair  Hill, 
or  Father  McGovern  over  at  St.  Helen's.  People  nursin', 
like  Patricia,  have  to  make  their  communions  when  they 
can  an'  where  they  can,  for  poor  sick  folk  can't  be  left; 
an'  sometimes,  as  you,  a  good  Catholic,  ought  to  know, 
the  spiritual  intention  has  to  count, — like  the  baptism  of 
desire,  where  there  is  none  to  pour  on  the  water." 

McCoy  had  seated  himself  by  the  table  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands.  Father  Carew's  breast  was  heaving  with 
emotion.  He  had  spoken,  but  to  the  end  of  time,  never  as 
long  as  he  lived,  would  he  ask  Father  Hennessey  or  Father 
McGovern,  or  Father  Miles  if  Patricia  had  made  a  good 
Easter.  Snatches  of  the  penitential  psalms  went  through 
his  mind.  "  De  profundis,  Domine !  Oh,  save  me,"  he 
added,  "  from  beholdin'  evil.  Save  her  who  began  a  good 
work  in  this  world.  Cover  her  with  thy  righteousness  and 
pity,  O  merciful  Jesus." 

His  prayers  calmed  his  mind.  Until  she  came  to  him  in 
the  confessional  he  would  form  no  judgments.  Silence 
fell  in  the  study.  Father  Carew,  tiptoeing  out,  sought  his 
housekeeper. 

"  Tea  for  Mr.  McCoy,"  he  said,  "  an'  make  it  strong." 

The  old  woman  nodded.  She  was  used  to  these  forti- 
fyings  of  the  bodies  of  those  who  sought  the  priest  in 
trouble. 

Returning,  Father  Carew  found  McCoy  still  in  the  same 
attitude.  "  It's  a  good  thing  McCoy,  you  didn't  go  home 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  367 

to  your  good  wife  with  your  foolish  babblings,  ain't  it  now  ? 
You  must  promise  me  to  say  nothin'  until  I've  seen  Patricia 
meself." 

"  I'll  promise,"  McCoy  sighed. 

When  the  tea  came  he  drank  it  eagerly.  The  magic  of 
the  priest's  words  was  working  in  him.  Of  course  he  had 
frightened  her !  Of  course  it  could  not  be  true !  The  hot 
tea  sent  the  blood  coursing  through  his  veins.  He  looked 
penitently  into  the  priest's  face. 

"  I've  been  so  worried,  Father,"  he  said. 

"  And  then  you  fly  off  the  handle.  Well,  April's  a  bad 
time  of  the  year  for  the  nerves,"  the  priest  admitted  sooth- 
ingly. "  I  always  expect  troubles  in  the  Spring  months, 
when  nobody's  satisfied  either  with  their  clothes  or  their 
situation  in  life.  It's  the  great  annual  breakin'  out  of  dis- 
content an'  movin's  and  house-paintin'  an'  family  quarrels, 
and  lilacs.  The  birds  seem  to  be  enjoyin'  themselves,  but 
nobody  else.  Whatever  St.  Francis  taught  them  in  that 
famous  sermon  they've  never  forgotten  it — which  is  more 
than  I  can  say  of  me  own  congregation.  Now,  will  you  go 
home  like  a  sensible  man — an'  say  nothin'  to  Mary — until 
I  give  you  leave  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Father,"  McCoy  promised  meekly. 

"  An'  trust  your  girl.  Maybe  we  were  too  anxious  for 
that  marriage.  Maybe  the  Lord  intends  somethin'  else  for 
her." 

"  But  the  house — the  big,  beautiful  house  ? "  McCoy 
groaned. 

"  Stop  thinkin'  of  worldly  advantage — an'  pray  for  your 
daughter." 

The  telephone  rang  sharply.  With  a  hand  that  trembled 
a  little,  Father  Carew  took  down  the  receiver.  His  face 
blanched  as  he  caught  the  message,  but  he  gave  back  an 
unconcerned  affirmative. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Divine,  to-night,  then — an'  thank  you  kindly. 
I'll  be  there  at  eight ;  prompt  at  eight.  Good-by." 

He  turned  to  see  McCoy's  eyes  fixed  anxiously  upon  him. 

"  Your  supper  will  be  cold,  man — run  along,"  he  said, 


368  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

and  McCoy,  only  half  satisfied,  took  his  departure,  won- 
dering what  a  heretic  priest  could  do  for  Father  Carew  that 
the  latter  should  thank  him. 

When  he  was  gone  Father  Carew  remained  for  a  long 
time  on  the  spot  where  McCoy  had  left  him,  lost  in  thought, 
troubled,  profoundly  anxious.  Divine's  message,  though 
veiled,  was  as  good  as  a  confirmation  of  a  dread  suspicion. 
That  Patricia  should  emerge  from  her  long  eclipse  to  ask 
through  a  stranger  the  privilege  of  confession  was  tanta- 
mount to  a  declaration  of  her  guilt.  Yet  the  best  effort  of 
his  imagination  could  not  picture  her  as  a  sinner,  since 
Patricia  had  the  faculty  of  transforming  anything  she  did 
into  a  manifestation  of  her  growth,  of  her  strength,  of  her 
imperious  will,  of  anything,  indeed,  but  shame  or  weakness. 

Yet  he  must  be  prepared  to  deal  with  her  as  with  a 
sinner.  Her  life  unrolled  before  him,  beautiful  in  its  con- 
sistency, its  coherence,  its  strong  web  of  good  works,  of 
charitable  deeds;  remarkably  free  from  impulse  or  the 
mystic  fervors  of  the  unhealthily  religious.  But  what  had 
produced  her  consistency?  What  if,  after  all,  she  had  bent 
her  will  to  a  supreme  emotion,  her  unchanging  days  the  re- 
flection of  an  unchanging  passion?  He  thought  of  her 
engagement  to  that  abstracted  aristocrat,  Neal  Carmichael, 
and  of  her  confessions  at  that  period — luminous  recitals 
of  happy  aspiration  rather  than  a  categorical  summary  of 
a  good  woman's  peccadillos.  He  recalled  the  lifeless  con- 
fessions that  followed  the  breaking  of  her  engagement, 
avowals  of  petty  faults  in  which  she  seemed  only  half  inter- 
ested, related  in  a  voice  emptied  of  vibrancy. 

The  housekeeper  came  to  call  him  to  supper,  but  he  de- 
clined to  appear  in  the  supper-room. 

"  Not  eatin'  again  ?  "  she  glowered. 

"  Lave  me  alone,  woman." 

The  distant  slamming  of  a  door  was  her  comment  upon 
this  not  unusual  vagary ;  but  Father  Carew  scarcely  heard. 
He  looked  at  his  watch ;  it  said  six-thirty.  An  hour  and 
a  half  until  he  was  wanted  at  St.  Margaret's — an  intolera- 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  369 

ble  time !  Snatching  up  his  hat  he  sought  the  outdoor  world. 
Thank  the  Lord,  the  Island  had  always  its  hills  to  offer 
to  people  that  must  forget  they  were  jumpy  and  nervous. 
He  knew  a  tough  road,  almost  straight  in  the  air  between 
perched  houses.  Up  that  he  toiled  with  labored  breath, 
his  thoughts  becoming  calmer  as  his  physical  exertions  were 
the  more  strenuous.  Pausing  for  breath  at  last,  he  saw  far 
beneath  him  the  spire  of  St.  Margaret's,  and  beyond  the 
crowded  channel. 

"  Good-evening,  Father  Carew."  Neal  Carmichael  stood 
before  him  holding  out  his  hand.  The  priest  hesitated  a 
moment.  It  might  be  the  last  time  he  should  ever  care  to 
take  this  man's  hand. 

"  On  a  parochial  visit,  Father?" 

"  No — just  walkin'.  The  Spring  evenin's  are  fine.  How 
are  you,  Mr.  Carmichael?  You  look  sort  of  thin  an'  care- 
worn to  me." 

Neal  flashed  a  quick  glance  at  him.  "  I  don't  find  life 
easier  than  my  neighbors,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "  And 
you?" 

"  A  priest  can't  be  concerned  with  easy  or  hard.  Rough 
an'  smooth,  it's  all  alike  to  him.  Mrs.  Carmichael  well?" 

"  As  usual,"  Neal  answered. 

"  An'  the  old  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Not  very  brisk." 

"  Ah,  it's  the  time  of  life.  But  you  must  excuse  me.  I 
have  a  service  at  eight." 

"  An  evening  service  ?  " 

"  A  poor  woman  wants  to  make  her  confession." 

His  eyes  searched  Neal's  face.  The  two  men  looked  at 
each  other.  Neal's  thoughts  were  with  Patricia.  He  longed 
to  ask  the  priest  if  he  had  heard  from  her,  but  he  did  not 
dare  to  speak  her  name  for  fear  of  self-betrayal. 

When  Father  Carew  had  left  him  he  remained  for  a  long 
time  gazing  down  on  the  valley.  Ada  was  having  a  dinner- 
party from  which  he  had  excused  himself  on  the  plea  of 
a  headache.  Whenever  he  could  he  escaped  from  the  house, 


370  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

whose  elaborate  routine  had  become  as  effective  a  jail  as 
so  much  stone  and  iron.  Out  of  doors  he  could  at  least  be 
free  of  the  traps  which  all  dealings  with  Ada  seemed  to 
create  automatically. 

The  evening  deepened.  The  spire  of  St.  Margaret's, 
recognizable  at  a  long  distance  by  its  lightness  and  grace, 
still  caught  the  last  afterglow  out  of  which  stars  were 
emerging — Patricia's  church  from  which  by  his  supreme 
selfishness  he  had  exiled  her.  Could  love,  true  love,  be 
born  of  that  hour  of  passion  ?  The  ultimate  sacrificial  love, 
love  free  from  the  poison  of  personal  desire,  seemed  too 
high  for  the  frail  hearts  of  men.  When  they  had  attained 
it  they  would  call  nothing  their  own,  but  would  lose  them- 
selves in  the  universal.  How  far  he  was  from  that  goal, 
he  craving  warmth,  fresh  experiments  in  fidelity,  the  em- 
brace of  life. 

In  the  valley  below  a  poor  woman  was  coming  to  relate 
her  sins.  Neal's  mind  dwelt  idly  a  moment  on  who  she 
might  be — some  tradesman's  wife,  perhaps,  or  a  servant 
wearied  with  the  day's  muddle  of  work.  Whoever  she  was, 
Father  Carew  had  dignified  her  confession  by  the  name  of 
a  service. 

Neal  thought  of  her  with  a  faint  envy,  since  he  himself 
had  only  the  universe  to  which  to  whisper  his  secret — a 
cosmos  profoundly  cryptic,  containing  all  mysteries  and 
revealing  none.  The  stars  above  the  spire  of  St.  Mar- 
garet's glittered  coldly  in  the  emptiness  of  the  night — sym- 
bols of  the  inaccessible.  He  looked  towards  his  own  bril- 
liantly lighted  house,  then  again  at  the  church,  its  windows 
faintly  illuminated — not  one  light  that  he  could  follow, 
whether  of  stars,  or  altar  lamps,  or  the  beacons  of  home. 
Feeling  outcast  and  desolate,  he  resumed  his  walk,  choosing 
the  loneliest  roads. 

Late  that  evening  Patricia  returned  to  the  farm.  In  her 
mind,  like  the  fabric  of  a  dream,  was  the  sacred  environ- 
ment in  which  she  had  told  her  story  to  a  priest,  whose 
voice,  filled  with  suppressed  sobs,  had  been  scarcely  recog- 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  371 

nizable  as  the  voice  of  her  old  pastor.  The  odor  of  incense 
clung  to  her  clothes,  a  reminder  that  she  had  really  been 
to  St.  Margaret's,  had  really  knelt  in  the  familiar  confes- 
sional, and  had  parted  there  finally  with  her  traditional 
personality  by  the  acknowledgment  of  her  guilt. 

Father  Carew  was  coming  in  the  morning  to  baptize  the 
child.  He  approved  of  Divine's  plans  for  Patricia,  and 
declared  that  the  seal  of  the  confessional  should  be  observed 
in  more  than  the  letter.  Concerning  Neal  Carmichael  he 
said  nothing,  but  Patricia  felt  that  even  his  priesthood  had 
not  saved  him  from  some  moments  of  anger  and  bitterness. 
It  had  been  altogether  a  terrible  half-hour — if  purification, 
then  by  fire  of  agony. 

Before  going  to  bed  Patricia  wrote  a  note  to  Charles 
Divine  asking  him  to  take  under  his  protection  the  man 
and  woman  who  had  befriended  her,  and  telling  him  some- 
thing of  their  history.  "  Take  them  into  St.  Anne's,  if 
possible,"  she  concluded.  "  It  is  a  church  dear  to  me." 

The  spectral  mists  had  hidden  the  mill  from  her  sight, 
when  putting  out  her  bedroom  candle  she  raised  the  shade 
to  look  for  the  last  time  at  a  landscape  interwoven  with  the 
most  exalted  moments  of  her  existence — with  her  supremest 
joy,  her  blindest  grief.  The  passion  of  the  afternoon  that 
had  brought  her  so  near  to  death  had  given  place  to  the  faint 
stirring  of  new  hope ;  but  something  of  the  chill  of  the  grave 
still  benumbed  her,  and  saved  her  from  the  last  griefs  of 
her  departure.  Before  the  mists  rose  again  she  would  be 
forever  out  of  the  lives  of  her  family — and  out  of  the  life 
of  Neal  Carmichael.  Her  farewells  to  them,  breathed  from 
her  heart  to  the  silent  air,  held  no  hope  of  reunion. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

IN  the  house  by  the  water-front  Patricia  was  hauntingly 
present.  Her  father  had  kept  his  promise  to  Father  Carew, 
had  even  lulled  to  rest  his  suspicions;  but  his  daughter 
swayed  his  thoughts,  filled  his  d?ys  and  nights.  Some  riddle 
of  sinister  circumstance  obscured  her — a  mystery  which  he 
dimly  felt  was  interwoven  with  the  qualities  of  Patricia's 
nature  he  had  most  admired,  her  faculty  of  progress,  her 
ambitions,  her  sensitiveness  to  aristocratic  standards.  What 
final  link  was  between  her  and  that  world  which,  years  ago, 
for  some  fantastic  reason,  she  had  refused  to  enter? 

One  evening  Father  Carew  came  to  the  house,  accom- 
panied by  Thomas  Murphy.  Mrs.  McCoy  listened  silently 
to  the  news  that  Patricia  had  fled  from  an  uncongenial 
marriage  to  the  mountains  of  Tennessee — there  to  assist  an 
old  physician  who  had  labored  for  years  among  the  moun- 
taineers. Avoiding  her  husband's  eyes,  she  asked  to  see 
the  letter  Patricia  had  written  Father  Carew  from  the 
South.  After  reading  it,  she  withdrew  without  comment. 

Alone  in  her  bedroom,  she  allowed  the  slow  tears  to  fall 
over  her  furrowed  cheeks.  What  Patricia  had  not  revealed 
was  the  true  story,  interwoven,  she  was  sure,  with  Neal 
Carmichael's  own  failure  to  achieve  happiness.  Her  grav- 
est task  in  the  future  would  be  to  keep  her  suspicions  from 
her  husband  that  more  than  a  disinclination  to  marry 
Thomas  was  back  of  Patricia's  flight.  This  reflection,  like 
some  dark  charm,  brought  James  McCoy  to  her — a  poor, 
hurt  figure,  his  face  working  like  a  child's  about  to  cry. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it,  Mary  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing  more  than  what  Patricia  writes,"  she  replied 
quietly. 

"  What'll  we  say  when  folks  asks  us  about  her  ?  " 

"  Tell  'em  what  she  has  done — gone  to  Tennessee." 

372 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  373 

His  mind  still  filled  with  futile,  stumbling  questions, 
James  McCoy  returned  to  the  visitors.  Thomas  declined 
to  discuss  Patricia's  case  with  him,  and  went  away  with 
Father  Carew.  In  place  of  the  fiery,  boastful  lover  of  an 
earlier  day  was  a  man  who  appeared  to  be  groping  through 
a  labyrinth  of  pain,  with  little  knowledge  of  what  had 
placed  him  there. 

"  Where  are  you  goin'  now,  lad  ?  "  the  priest  asked  as 
the  two  emerged  from  the  house. 

"  I  don't  know,  Father." 

"  Well,  if  you  won't  pray,  you'd  best  work.  The  Lord's 
puttin'  you  through  purgatory  in  this  world,  as  is  His  way 
sometimes." 

The  priest  left  him  at  the  gate  of  the  wrecking-yard. 
Thomas  shut  himself  in  his  office,  and  made  a  pretense  for 
a  while  of  going  through  some  orders  on  his  desk.  But 
the  grinding  ache  in  his  breast  was  scarcely  to  be  endured. 
This  mummery  of  work  seemed  only  to  increase  it.  Closing 
the  lid  of  his  desk,  he  swung  about  in  his  chair  and  gazed 
listlessly  through  the  window  at  the  yard,  with  its  litter  of 
salvage  from  the  wrecks  of  many  buildings.  The  over- 
mantels of  vanished  hearths  were  propped  against  the  doors 
of  bedrooms  now  open  but  to  the  tenantry  of  the  air.  Ban- 
nisters fantastically  poised  suggested  ghostly  stairs  to  in- 
visible heights.  Old  pillars,  which  once  had  supported 
porch  roofs,  now  stood  without  a  burden.  Everywhere 
wreck !  The  world  was  a  wreck. 

He  could  bear  the  place  no  longer.  Jealousy  was  scourg- 
ing him  to  intolerable  conclusions.  What  was  the  real 
reason  of  Patricia's  flight?  What  secret  of  love  or  shame 
was  she  hiding  in  the  wilderness?  Did  Neal  Carmichael 
know  that  she  had  gone?  Had  she  bestowed  upon  him 
the  farewell  that  she  had  not  sent  to  her  betrothed  lover? 
Thomas  longed  to  face  him,  to  demand  some  assurance  that 
Patricia's  flight  involved  no  other  history  than  the  open 
events  of  the  past  years. 

When  he  left  the  office  he  had  no  clear  idea  of  what 
direction  he  should  take,  but  walked  on  for  a  while  with 


374  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

unseeing  eyes — a  mere  mechanism  of  strained  muscles  and 
taut  nerves.  The  idea  haunted  him  that  Carmichael  knew 
something  about  Patricia  which  he  didn't  know.  A  feverish 
longing  seized  him  to  confront  his  old  rival ;  and  he  turned 
at  last  towards  Carmichael  House,  resolved  to  end  the 
uncertainty  of  years,  the  jealous  torments  from  which  he 
had  never  been  free.  As  he  entered  the  spacious  grounds, 
the  timidity  of  old  habit  seized  him,  for  that  great,  aloof 
house  high  above  him  there  on  the  hill  seemed  the  visible 
embodiment  of  an  aristocracy  whose  very  failures  triumphed 
over  the  successes  of  lesser  folk.  It  would  take  all  his 
courage  to  put  through  his  purpose,  but  he  went  doggedly 
on,  stimulated  by  some  fever  in  his  veins. 

The  door  was  open,  revealing  the  perspective  of  the  hall. 
He  was  about  to  ring  when  a  figure  emerged  from  one  of 
the  rooms — Mrs.  Carmichael  herself.  Ada's  cool,  clear 
gaze  had  a  way  of  restoring  people  to  sanity,  and  Murphy, 
meeting  it,  felt  like  a  man  who  wakes  from  a  dream  to  find 
himself  where  he  doesn't  want  to  be.  But  he  could  not 
turn  back  now,  so  he  inquired  for  Mr.  Carmichael.  Ada 
replied,  "  He  will  be  in  any  moment.  Will  you  wait  ?  " 

Thomas  was  undecided. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said,  with  an  imperative  note  in  her  soft 
voice. 

He  followed  her  to  the  library.  She  settled  herself  in 
a  chair,  and  motioned  him  to  be  seated.  Her  curiosity  was 
aroused.  This  man,  betrothed  to  Patricia,  looked  ill,  hag- 
gard, mentally  burdened.  What  was  the  matter  ?  Why  had 
he  come  to  see  her  husband  ? 

She  might  discover  something  if  she  gained  his  confidence, 
and  she  exerted  herself  to  be  agreeable  to  him,  using  the 
many  arts  she  possessed  to  hold  his  attention.  After  some 
desultory  talk,  she  inquired  for  Patricia. 

"  Miss  McCoy  is  in  the  South,"  Murphy  answered.  His 
heavy  eyes  veiled  further  information. 

"  In  the  South  ?  You  surprise  me.  Is  the  marriage  post- 
poned— again  ?  " 

"  Our  engagement  is  broken." 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  375 

Ada  darted  a  keen  glance  at  him.  What  was  back  of 
this  ?  Nothing  more,  perhaps,  than  the  same  incompatibility 
that  existed  between  herself  and  Neal.  No  real  community 
of  feeling  could  link  this  man  and  Patricia,  who  had  prob- 
ably run  away  from  an  impossible  situation.  Ada,  about 
to  run  away  herself,  felt  a  certain  sympathy  for  Patricia, 
as  mere  woman  threatened  by  the  eternal  masculine  with 
its  limitations.  There  were  crises  when  women  ceased  to 
be  rivals  and  understood  each  other,  if  through  nothing 
more  than  sheer  weariness  of  the  male  world  they  had  to 
deal  with — its  demands,  its  impenetrabilities,  its  dominant 
genius,  its  inevitable  rights  of  conquest.  Even  with  Went- 
worth  she  didn't  expect  to  be  quite  happy,  but  it  would 
be  a  change. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said  kindly.  She  felt  as  if  she  would 
like  to  help  him — why  she  scarcely  knew,  except  that  her 
mood  this  day  was  one  of  complacence,  since  to-morrow  all 
the  weary  reiteration  of  her  life  with  Neal  would  be  over. 
Feeling  towards  even  him  a  certain  far-off  tenderness,  she 
experienced  already  the  charity  of  distance. 

She  asked  Murphy  what  he  knew  of  the  shipwrecking 
business.  His  eyes  brightened  at  once,  for  one  of  his  latest 
enterprises  was  the  opening  of  a  shipwrecking  yard.  As 
he  talked  to  her  upon  this  subject,  the  fever  seemed  to  leave 
his  veins.  She  had  the  power  to  help  people,  he  reflected. 
What  a  calm,  beautiful  woman  she  was,  and  how  much 
more  kind  than  he  had  judged  her ! 

The  great  room,  holding  so  much  violet  in  its  shadows, 
was  restful  to  him,  though  he  scarcely  observed  its  fur- 
nishings. Ada  dominated  the  scene,  held  him  to  his  task 
of  telling  her  all  he  knew  of  the  shipwrecking  business. 
In  the  midst  of  one  of  his  sentences  Neal  entered. 

His  look  of  astonishment  when  he  saw  who  his  visitor 
was  did  not  escape  Murphy,  but  before  the  two  men  could 
shake  hands  Ada  had  called  Neal  to  her  with  some  little 
intimate  speech  which  produced  the  effect  upon  Murphy 
of  a  thoroughly  good  understanding  between  husband  and 
wife.  The  sight  of  Ada's  hand  lingering  for  a  moment 


376  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

on  her  husband's  arm  made  Murphy  feel  that  he  had 
found  his  way  to  Carmichael  House  in  a  kind  of  delir- 
ium. 

"  Well,  Murphy,  how's  business  ?  "  Neal  had  turned  to 
him  with  an  assumption  of  cheerful  nonchalance.  Secretly, 
he  was  wondering  why  Patricia's  lover  had  called.  An 
apprehension  from  which  he  was  never  free  filled  him  with 
an  awkward  self-consciousness. 

Murphy,  whose  chief  desire  now  was  to  leave  the  house 
without  betrayal  of  the  purpose  that  had  brought  him 
to  it,  answered  Neal's  question  by  inquiring  if  Mr.  Car- 
michael intended  to  rebuild  certain  tenements  on  land  be- 
longing to  the  estate — the  first  excuse  for  his  presence  that 
he  could  snatch  from  his  bewildered  thoughts.  Neal  was 
surprised,  but  his  relief  was  intense.  He  answered  with 
a  cordiality  not  assumed. 

"  You  want  the  wrecking  job  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  may 
begin  to-morrow,  if  you  like.  Those  rookeries  should  have 
been  pulled  down  long  ago.  They  are  only  a  refuge  for 
tramps." 

Ada  went  away,  leaving  them  to  a  conversation  which, 
from  the  nature  of  the  case,  did  not  continue  long.  Murphy 
eyed  his  man  warily  during  their  talk  together,  but  Neal, 
as  usual,  disarmed  him  by  his  impersonal  manner,  his  kind- 
ness that  seemed  wholly  without  effort. 

Neal,  on  his  side,  was  with  difficulty  keeping  from  his 
lips  certain  interrogations  that  haunted  his  days  and  racked 
his  spirit  with  an  anxiety  never  allayed.  Had  Patricia 
returned?  When  would  the  marriage  take  place? 

But  he  was  afraid  to  ask  these  questions,  lest  his  voice 
should  betray  him.  He  had  wronged  this  man  too  terribly 
to  be  able  to  speak  with  calm  of  the  woman  who  dominated 
both  their  lives. 

When  Murphy  had  taken  his  departure,  Neal  sought  Ada 
to  tell  her  what  had  been  agreed  upon  in  the  interview, 
for  he  knew  her  fondness  for  business  detail.  She  was 
seated  at  her  desk,  a  sheet  of  paper  as  yet  blank  before 
her,  her  pen  delicately  poised  as  if  the  first  words  were 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  377 

already  mentally  indited  Whatever  they  were,  they  had 
brought  an  unusual  look  of  gravity  upon  her  features. 

"  Has  the  wrecker  departed  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Just  gone." 

"  What  a  solemn  soul  he  is.  When  he  asked  for  you  he 
had  a  face  of  tragedy.  I  suppose  he  takes  wrecking  hard." 

"  You  were  kind  to  bring  him  in  and  talk  to  him,  Ada." 

"  Oh,  I  had  nothing  else  to  do,"  she  said  good-humoredly. 
"  And  I  like  types.  I  believe  he  has  some  excuse  for  look- 
ing serious.  Patricia  has  run  away  from  him." 

Neal  turned  sharply  to  the  window  and  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment with  his  back  to  Ada,  his  hands  fumbling  nervously 
with  the  curtain  cords. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Do  you  want  more  light — or  less," 
she  said  in  an  amused  tone. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  her  running  away  ?  "  His  voice 
was  uncertain.  He  was  still  handling  the  cords. 

"  You're  pulling  the  wrong  one  if  you  want  more  light. 
Patricia's  gone  South — wherever  that  may  be.  I  suppose 
Murphy  got  on  her  nerves — one  can  easily  see  how  he 
might — and  she  bolted." 

"  Rough  on  him,"  Neal  muttered. 

"  Rougher  on  both  of  them  if  she  had  stayed,"  Ada  com- 
mented. "  Now,  run  off  like  a  good  boy.  I've  letters  to 
write — important  ones,"  she  added  with  a  ghost  of  a 
smile. 

Neal  betook  himself  to  a  distant  part  of  the  gardens  to 
consider  in  quiet  the  news  he  had  just  heard.  Upon  its 
meager  skeleton  he  might  hang  any  theory,  but  the  one 
that  seemed  most  probable  was  that  Patricia's  conscience 
would  not  allow  her  to  continue  in  marriage  the  wrong 
against  her  betrothed  lover  wrought  that  fatal  day  upon 
the  Southmarsh  road.  Wave  upon  wave  of  remorse,  dark 
and  bitter,  swept  over  him  as  he  thought  of  her.  His 
uncompassed  life  had  ended  in  shipwreck,  in  a  disaster 
whose  supreme  selfishness  had  devastated  even  the  heav- 
enly virtues  of  a  most  faithful  heart. 

Another  possibility  presented  itself  as  the  cause  of  this 


378  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

tragic  flight,  but  he  would  not  consider  it.  He  had  not  the 
courage  to  entertain  that  thought,  nor  its  miserable  logic. 

When  he  returned  to  the  house  Ada  was  still  seated  at 
her  desk,  but  her  writing  materials  had  been  put  away. 
Something  in  the  pallor  of  her  face,  the  tenseness  of  her 
attitude,  betrayed  unusual  emotion,  and  an  interrogation 
sprang  to  his  lips  that  he  did  not  voice.  One  of  the  signs 
of  the  gulf  between  them  was  an  inability  to  speak  with 
directness  to  each  other. 

After  a  while  she  looked  up,  recognizing  his  presence 
with  a  silent  nod  and  a  wistful,  fleeting  look,  which  passed 
from  him  to  the  Spring  landscape  of  an  Island  that  neither 
had  found  blessed.  Something  trembled  on  her  lips  that 
she  could  not  say  to  him,  because  of  the  emotion  in  his 
own  eyes.  If  she  spoke  they  might  in  another  minute  lose 
the  courage  of  their  self-possession  and  become  poor, 
drowned  waifs  mistaking  their  desperate  clutch  for  a  real 
need  of  each  other. 


CHAPTER  L 

"  You  do  not  need  me  this  week  at  all  ?  " 

"  No — you'd  better  plant  your  garden  seeds  and  get  some 
color  in  your  face." 

An  old  man  on  a  young  horse  that  he  had  difficulty  in 
keeping  quiet  was  addressing  Patricia,  who  stood  at  the 
door  of  her  mountain  cabin,  her  year-old  baby  in  her  arms. 
Her  attitude  was  grave,  attentive,  emptied  of  personal  pref- 
erence— a  complete  detachment  from  the  claims  of  self  that 
sometimes  puzzled  Dr.  Malcolm,  who  traced  it,  however,  to 
the  same  mystery  that  had  brought  the  most  efficient  helper 
he  had  ever  had  to  these  solitudes.  Even  her  name  was 
unknown  to  him.  She  was  merely  "  Nurse  Patricia,"  and 
by  the  same  simple  cognomy  her  letters  were  addressed. 
That  she  wore  no  wedding-ring  he  judged  to  be  a  matter 
of  caprice  on  her  part,  for  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
she  might  not  be  married.  There  was  a  quiet  dignity  in 
her  manner,  a  matronly  balance,  a  gravity  that  seemed  the 
inevitable  qualities  of  wifehood.  Her  beautiful  child  was, 
it  was  evident,  her  substitute  for  what  married  life  had  not 
brought  her. 

The  baby's  hands  were  about  her  throat,  and  his  head, 
thickly  covered  with  light  brown  ringlets,  was  resting  for 
a  moment  on  his  mother's  shoulder.  Looking  down  at 
him,  a  smile  came  into  her  eyes.  She  touched  a  stray  curl 
lightly.  The  physician  gave  an  approving  nod. 

"  He  thrives." 

"  Yes — wonderfully.  Neal's  heavier  than  most  babies  of 
his  age." 

"  Neal  ?    Named  for  his  father,  I  suppose." 

Flaming  color  flooded  her  face.  She  drew  her  breath 
in  with  a  kind  of  sob;  then,  raising  dark,  troubled  eyes  to 
the  physician's  face,  she  answered  in  the  affirmative  with- 

379 


380  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

out  comment.  Dr.  Malcolm  gave  a  comprehending  nod, 
having  himself  known  tragic  vicissitudes.  He  was  reflect- 
ing that  it  was  well  that  Patricia's  beauty  was  of  the  sort 
that  won  her  only  respect.  So  much  of  the  feminine  beauty 
in  the  world  had  no  protecting  soul  back  of  it. 

"  Well,  I  must  be  farin'  on.  Good-evenin',  Nurse  Pa- 
tricia. That  sunset's  too  gorgeous — looks  like  we  might 
have  rain  by  mornin'." 

In  another  moment  he  was  far  down  the  rough  moun- 
tain road,  hidden  from  sight  by  a  cloud  of  dust  kicked  up 
by  the  mare's  hoofs.  Patricia  remained  where  he  had  left 
her,  looking  across  the  immense  violet  sea  of  air  in  the 
deep  valleys  to  peaks  whose  amethyst  darkened  against  a 
red  sunset.  The  wild  grandeur  of  the  scene  was  like  the 
trumpeting  of  a  church  organ.  These  vast  impersonal 
mountains  had  been  as  living  prayers  to  her  when  she  could 
not  pray  herself.  Never  had  they  been  twice  alike.  She 
loved  them  as  she  loved  the  great  pines  -that  stretched  from 
rocky  eeries,  the  headlong  mountain  torrents,  the  eagles 
flying  against  the  sun. 

She  loved,  too,  the  meek,  dreamy  people  whose  genera- 
tions had  been  dulled  by  eternal  monotony  into  an  acquies- 
cence so  un-American  as  to  suggest  an  alien  race.  The 
lank  men  guiding  their  oxen,  the  women  never  old  and 
never  young,  the  barefooted  children  with  their  white  hair 
and  faces  empty  of  juvenile  initiative,  they  were  all  dear 
to  her  through  their  very  inefficiency,  their  complete  assent 
to  their  vague  destiny.  In  no  other  community  could  she 
have  found  such  opportunities  for  alleviating  labor  and 
such  perfect  freedom  to  pursue  them.  The  native  lack  of 
understanding  of  all  worlds  outside  of  these  mountains  cov- 
ered her  with  a  veil. 

Few  of  the  women  had  wedding-rings,  though  honorably 
married  by  the  circuit  preacher;  so  Patricia's  deficiency  in 
that  respect  was  unquestioned.  They  relied  on  her  like 
dumb  animals,  grateful  for  the  ease  she  brought  to  their 
bodies.  To  their  souls  she  did  not  attempt  to  minister, 
despite  Divine's  charge  to  her.  That  she  should  follow 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  381 

Christ  to  the  stars  seemed  a  task  as  yet  beyond  her  powers, 
though  in  these  mountain  heights  she  thought  often  of  that 
journey,  for  the  stars  crowded  close  to  her  from  the  velvety 
blue  of  the  deep  night.  She  prayed  often  for  the  child, 
sometimes  for  Neal,  but  scarcely  ever  for  herself,  when  she 
knelt  before  the  rude  wooden  crucifix  above  the  window 
that  faced  the  East. 

Her  infrequent  letters  to  her  family  were  chiefly  accounts 
of  her  cases  and  of  Dr.  Malcolm's  skill.  She  had  to  abstain 
with  an  effort  from  relating  the  pretty  ways  of  her  baby — 
the  mother's  wonder  and  joy  overflowing  naturally  into  the 
desire  of  proud  recital. 

The  mountains  had  healed  her  spirit  of  feverish  remorse. 
Patricia  was,  indeed,  too  healthy  a  creature  for  continual 
wailing  over  a  fact  that  could  not  be  changed.  Her  face 
was  to  the  future,  not  the  past. 

She  went  in  after  a  while  to  prepare  her  simple  supper. 
The  great  fireplace  of  her  cabin  delighted  her,  inconvenient 
as  it  was.  Day  and  night,  through  all  weathers,  the  fire 
burned  there,  a  friendly  eye  in  the  deep  darkness  before 
dawn,  a  comfort  when  the  chilly  rains  beat  on  the  cabin 
roof.  Her  doors  and  windows  she  kept  wide  open  to  the 
wash  of  mountain  air,  and  she  saw  with  delight  how  the 
child  thrived  in  it.  His  beauty  hurt  her  sometimes,  like 
a  strain  of  music  whose  inspiration  she  would  fain  share 
with  another.  He  had  the  Carmichael  eyes  and  features — 
and  a  smile  that  brought  Neal  to  her,  a  vivid  presence. 

Having  eaten,  she  put  the  baby  to  bed ;  then  changed 
her  blue  linen  frock  to  one  of  white,  and  pinned  some  blue 
gentians  in  her  belt.  This  change  of  costume  was  a  daily 
rite,  clung  to  she  scarcely  knew  why,  except  through  a 
desire  not  "  to  run  down."  For  the  same  reason  she  kept 
books  on  her  little  shelves,  and  flowers  on  her  table;  and 
scattered  lavender  and  sweet-grass  on  the  folded  sheets  of 
her  scanty  linen-store.  One  could  live  like  a  princess  in  a 
cabin,  she  thought,  through  cleanliness  and  efficient  labor. 

Lighting  her  candles,  and  placing  a  book  between  them, 
Patricia  began  to  read.  The  volume  was  a  modern  soci- 


382  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

ological  work,  which  she  had  taken  in  preference  to  an 
edition  of  Browning  by  its  side.  Poetry  belonged  to  her 
lost  girlhood. 

Upon  the  writer's  intricate  scheme  for  human  regenera- 
tion she  had  difficulty  in  fixing  her  thought,  for  the  Spring 
night  wooed  her.  Little  puffs  of  soft  air  fanned  her  cheek, 
awakening  in  her  the  wonderful  will  to  live,  the  curiosity 
which  this  season  above  all  others  has  power  to  bestow. 
Not  in  books  would  she  find  the  secret  of  the  Riddle,  but 
in  the  mysterious  recesses  of  her  heart,  which  now  beat 
in  revolt  against  her  solitude.  It  was  not  enough !  it  was 
not  enough ! — this  lonely  watching  of  a  little  life,  this  im- 
personal service  of  a  world  whose  wounds  would  never  be 
healed  until  the  end  of  time.  It  was  not  enough ! 

She  pushed  the  book  impatiently  from  her  at  last,  and, 
going  to  the  door,  inhaled  deep  breaths  of  the  sweet  air. 
The  night,  dark  and  beautiful,  seemed  pregnant  with  all 
the  flowers  and  fruits  of  summer.  Wistfully  she  turned 
her  face  to  the  wide  zenith  with  its  pointed  traceries  of 
constellations  whose  names  she  did  not  know.  To  follow 
the  Highest  to  the  stars  was  a  task  one  could  not  accom- 
plish alone.  The  road  to  the  finding  of  Christ,  though  it 
ended  in  celestial  light,  must  surely  wind  first  through 
the  lovely  valleys  of  earth. 

If  she  must  not  think  of  Neal  Carmichael  on  this  Spring 
night,  of  whom  could  she  think,  since  no  other  human 
being  had  stirred  her  spirit  to  its  depths,  endowed  her 
with  pain,  with  joy,  with  the  necessity  for  this  terrible 
journey  to  the  feet  of  God? 

As  she  stood  there  musing  over  her  problem,  the  heavy 
grating  sound  of  wheels  told  her  that  an  ox-cart  was 
approaching;  and  soon  the  heads  of  the  creatures  came  into 
view,  slowly  swaying  as  their  great  lumbering  bulks 
strained  to  their  yokes.  A  lean,  tow-headed  boy  walked 
beside  them  with  monotonous  directions  for  their  guid- 
ance, to  the  accompaniment  of  flickings  of  his  thin  whip. 

Opposite  her  cabin  he  stopped  his  team,  took  off  his 
ragged  hat. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  383 

"  Letter,  Mis'  Patricia,"  he  announced. 

"Thank  you,  Si.    How's  your  grandmother?" 

"  Mighty  poor — calling  for  snuff  most  of  the  evenin'." 

"  I'll  bring  her  some  to-morrow,"  Patricia  said  with  a 

smile. 

The  letter  was  from  Father  Carew,  a  thick  letter,  full  of 

news  about  St.   Margaret's  and  the  people   Patricia  had 

known  from  childhood;  but  at  the  end  was  a  paragraph 

which  robbed  her  face  of  all  color : 

"  Mrs.  Carmichael  has  been  granted  a  divorce  from  her 
husband — non-compatibility  the  cause.  She  is  traveling  on 
to  Japan,  they  tell  me." 

That  was  all !  The  sheet  of  paper  dropped  from  her 
hands.  She  rose,  left  the  cabin  and  began  pacing  up  and 
down  the  road  in  front  of  it — up  and  down,  up  and  down, 
her  face  white  in  the  moonlight.  The  moon  set  after  awhile, 
but  she  was  still  in  the  road,  her  face  now  to  the  dark  East, 
now  to  the  dark  West. 


CHAPTER  LI 

/ 

CECILIA,  making  up  certain  household  accounts  at  the 
desk  of  the  library,  had  difficulty  in  keeping  her  thoughts 
upon  the  task  before  her.  Though  she  was  now  the  mis- 
tress of  Carmichael  House,  with  none  of  the  drawbacks 
of  her  girlhood  under  its  roof,  she  sometimes  felt  inade- 
quate to  her  new  position.  Ada  was  gone,  but  Ada's  spirit 
still  lingered — mockingly,  it  almost  seemed  to  Caecilia,  when 
a  silent  family  gathered  for  dinner,  or  drooped  together  in 
the  drawing-room.  Even  Jack's  good  spirits  were  not  in 
evidence,  though  he  surprised  Caecilia  by  remaining  much 
at  home,  enduring  long,  blurred  hours  with  his  father,  or 
talking  politics  with  Mr.  Griffin. 

Neal  was  the  member  of  the  family  to  whom  Csecilia's 
sympathies  went  out,  since  she  could  scarcely  forgive  Ada 
for  divorcing  him  under  circumstances  which  could  only 
add  to  his  humiliation.  It  was  hard,  indeed,  that  the  tenure 
of  Carmichael  House  should  be  the  gift  of  a  woman  who 
had  left  the  family  forever,  but  collectively  they  had  not 
the  courage  to  refuse  the  benefits.  "  It  would  kill  Father 
to  leave  the  place,"  had  become  their  shibboleth  of  ac- 
quiescence. 

Csecilia  wrote  a  check,  then  found  that  wandering 
thoughts  had  produced  an  error  in  the  number.  She  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  before  writing  a  fresh  check,  as  if  to 
dismiss  distraction  from  her  mind.  It  was  difficult.  The 
house  was  an  embodied  memory  of  Ada.  This  library 
proclaimed  her.  She  had  chosen  the  very  ink-well  into 
which  Caecilia  dipped  her  pen.  Would  she  always  steal 
through  these  rooms,  dominating  their  inhabitants  even  from 
far  Japan?  What  a  country  for  Ada!  Caecilia  reflected. 
How  much  pleasure  she  would  take  in  choosing  dresses 
to  blend  with  the  color  schemes  there ! — gold  and  rose  and 

384 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  385 

the  white  of  cherry-blossoms  and  the  beautiful  black  of 
old  lacquers. 

"  Whatever  Ada  was,  she  was  never  commonplace," 
Caecilia  said,  speaking  aloud,  as  she  sometimes  did  when 
alone.  Jack  overheard  her.  He  had  come  seeking  Neal. 

"  What's  this  about  Ada  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  that  whatever  else  she  was,  no  one  could 
accuse  her  of  being  commonplace,"  Caecilia  answered. 

"  Heavens,  no !  not  Ada — great  woman,  Ada !  "  Jack  said, 
adding  with  mournful  reminiscence,  "And  what  a  dinner 
she  could  set  before  you.  Her  spice  of  the  devil  had  a 
culinary  reaction.  When  Neal  comes  in,  say  I'm  in  the 
billiard-room,  Ceil.  I  want  to  see  him  about  an  important 
matter." 

"  I  wish  you  could  rouse  him  a  little,"  Caecilia  sighed. 

"  He  needs  to  get  away." 

"Where?" 

"  South,  I  think,"  Jack  said  meaningly. 

"  I  wish  we  could  all  go.  I  wish  we  could  all  leave  this 
house,"  she  said  with  sudden  fervor.  "  But  Father " 

"  It's  not  Father,"  Jack  interrupted.  "  We're  cowards. 
We  can't  break  away  from  this  place." 

"  Who's  to  inherit  it?    We're  all  childless." 

Jack  deliberated  a  moment,  then  summoning  his  courage, 
for  he  had  never  quite  understood  this  religious  sister  of 
his,  he  said  gravely: 

"  Caecilia,  we're  not  all  childless.  Neal  has  a  son,  and 
the  mother  is  Patricia  McCoy." 

The  color  left  Caecilia's  face.  She  looked  as  if  she  could 
not  believe  the  testimony  of  her  senses.  Jack  saw  that  she 
was  trembling,  and,  going  to  her,  he  put  an  arm  about  her 
shoulder. 

"  I  wanted  you  to  know,  my  dear.  Neal  should  know — 
now  that  he  is  free." 

Caecilia  put  her  hands  before  her  face. 

"  Poor  Patricia !    Oh,  poor  girl ! " 

"  God  bless  you,  Ceil,  for  taking  it  that  way ! " 

She  began  to  ask  questions.    He  told  her  what  he  could. 


386  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

"  Neal  will  marry  her,"  Caecilia  said  solemnly. 

"  If  she'll  let  him !  There's  not  much  hope  of  it  in  this 
letter  I've  just  received  from  her  in  answer  to  one  of  mine. 
I  can't  say  I  blame  her ! " 

"  Oh,  she  can't  refuse !    For  the  child's  sake." 

"  That's  just  it !  Patricia's  too  fine  a  woman  to  go 
hiding  through  the  world.  She  can't  stay  forever  in  her 
wilderness !  " 

Caecilia  sighed. 

"  I  don't  understand  life,"  she  said  naively,  and  turned 
again  to  her  desk. 

Jack,  waiting  for  his  nephew  in  the  billiard-room,  specu- 
lated as  to  the  effect  of  his  news  on  Neal.  Would  this 
idealistic  kinsman  rush  away,  as  he  should,  to  Patricia, 
or  would  he  take  vows  and  scourge  himself  in  the  lifeless 
paddock  of  some  brotherhood,  peopled  from  the  failures  of 
the  world?  Jack's  nervous  apprehension  had  almost  read 
him  a  monk,  when  the  subject  of  his  fears  appeared  in  the 
doorway.  Neal  looked  expectant,  as  if  prepared  for  news 
of  importance. 

"  Well,  Jack  ?  "  he  questioned. 

"  I've  news  for  you — Patricia " 

Neal  straightened  himself  to  receive  the  blow  that 
was  coming.  He  thought  he  knew  what  Jack  had  to  tell 
him. 

"  She  has  a  son — born  a  year  ago." 

Neal  stared  at  his  uncle,  misery  in  his  face  so  acute  that 
Jack  felt  sympathy  for  him — against  his  will. 

"  Why  wasn't  I  told  before  ?  "  he  said  harshly.  "  What 
right  had  you  to  keep  this  from  me  ?  " 

Jack  felt  relieved.  There  could  be  no  question  of  what 
this  man  would  do. 

"  What  good  would  it  have  done — with  you  tied  to  Ada  ? 
Besides,  Patricia  didn't  wish  you  told.  She  doesn't  wish 
it  now." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  In  the  mountains — in  the  South — nursing  poor  whites. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  387 

Divine  sent  her  there.  You're  out  of  her  life.  She  wants 
to  keep  you  out  of  it." 

"  She  can't." 

"  Read  this  letter." 

Neal  read  it,  jealousy  stirring  in  his  heart  of  all  that  had 
been  held  from  him,  of  all  the  people  who  had  helped  her 
while  he  knew  nothing.  Keep  him  from  her — the  mother 
of  his  son !  He  would  follow  her,  demand  that  she  marry 
him,  if  for  no  love  of  him,  then  for  this  everlasting  link 
between  them.  He  questioned  Jack  closely.  His  uncle  left 
him  at  last  satisfied  that  the  next  important  steps  were 
assured,  no  matter  what  the  outcome. 

Patricia  with  a  son !  His  son !  The  amazing  fact  blotted 
out  everything,  even  the  long  winters  of  his  discontent  and 
defeat.  What  he  was  or  what  he  did  seemed  to  matter 
now  only  as  it  touched  upon  another  life,  as  yet  but  hearsay 
to  him,  yet  bearing  dynamic  power  as  the  still  small  voice 
had  once  been  the  vehicle  of  God.  His  son!  He  thought 
of  the  mother's  anguish,  of  the  long  months  of  mental 
and  physical  suffering  that  must  have  preceded  this  birth. 

He  paced  the  floor,  pausing  at  times  to  look  upon  the 
Spring  landscape,  the  symbol  of  resurrection  beyond  the 
budding  of  the  leaves  and  flowers.  Now  he  could  go  on. 
The  next  generation  always  gave  absolution.  His  child 
should  be  his  hope.  Solemn  thoughts  filled  him.  If,  as 
Ada  said,  he  would  be  always  dissatisfied,  was  it  not  that 
some  goal  was  worth  the  search?  But  he  could  not  find 
that  goal  alone.  He  and  Patricia  must  seek  it  together. 

A  knock  came.  He  looked  up,  expecting  to  see  Jack,  but 
it  was  Divine.  He  had  been  much  with  the  Carmichaels 
of  late,  as  Father  Carew  was  often  with  the  McCoys. 

"  They  said  you  were  here,"  Divine  explained,  adding 
after  a  pause,  "  Jack  has  told  you." 

"  I'm  going  to  her,  Divine." 

The  two  men  faced  each  other  solemnly.  Something  in 
Divine's  gaze  drew  faltering  words  from  Neal's  lips.  That 
this  priest  should  confess  him,  should  give  him  absolution 
before  he  started  on  his  journey,  seemed  now  quite  natural. 


388  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

Divine  listened  with  the  deep  compassion  which  was  the 
only  sentiment  he  ever  felt  towards  sinners. 

"  Let  nothing  keep  you  from  her,"  he  said  solemnly  when 
Neal  had  finished.  "  Go  with  her  to  her  furthest  sanctu- 
ary— to  her  altar,  if  she  will  not  kneel  at  yours." 

It  was  a  voice  from  the  Universal,  but  it  brought  to  the 
listener's  vision  the  long  aisles  of  St.  Margaret's,  the  gray 
walls  of  the  dim  church  by  the  sea-marshes;  and  beyond 
both  the  illimitable  sky. 


CHAPTER  LII 

THE  mountain  road  leading  continually  into  wilder  and 
wilder  regions  seemed  about  to  lose  itself  in  a  primeval 
forest.  It  was  incredible  that  Patricia  should  be  in  a  still 
deeper  wilderness;  or  that  a  settlement  should  find  an 
excuse  for  being  in  these  grand  but  mournful  solitudes. 
Neal,  trudging  along  by  the  ox-cart,  could  elicit  but  frag- 
mentary information  from  his  guide.  He  desisted  finally, 
and  contented  himself  with  long  surveys  of  the  picturesque 
scenery  afforded  by  openings  in  the  forest.  Patricia's 
hiding-place  was  spacious,  as  if  she  had  fled  to  the  uni- 
verse for  shelter  like  some  goddess  out  of  a  perished 
mythology.  This  buoyant  air  sweeping  in  an  everlasting 
flood  from  peak  to  peak  must  lift  the  mind  insensibly  out 
of  despair  and  grief. 

Divine's  letter  introducing  him  to  Dr.  Malcolm  was  in 
his  pocket.  The  physician  must  be  his  host,  unless  he 
made  his  own  camp  in  the  forest.  Beyond  this  first 
stopping-place  he  dared  not  project  his  thoughts,  since  a 
profound  humility  ruled  him,  a  deep  reverence  that  made 
his  pilgrimage  to  Patricia  like  the  stations  of  some  Via 
Crucis.  Marriage  after  all  solved  nothing,  was  but  a  social 
palliative  for  a  past  offense,  bringing  honor  least  of  all  to 
the  woman  unless  her  love  demanded  it.  Patricia,  ceasing 
to  love  him,  might  well  turn  in  disdain  from  such  a  cheap 
solution  of  her  difficulty. 

If  he  were  still  identified  with  her  past  defeats,  with 
her  shipwreck  of  illusions,  if  he  were  one  with  memories 
that  held  no  joy,  then  his  task  would  be  hard  indeed.  What 
compulsion  must  he  exercise  to  gain  her  belief  in  herself, 
in  him,  in  their  common  future?  The  days  of  romance 
were  over.  They  were  facing  difficult  facts,  the  humanity 
of  each  clear  to  the  other — and,  alas!  the  weakness  never 

389 


390  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

again  to  be  glossed  over.  Man  and  woman  they  were,  not 
hero  and  maiden — man  and  woman,  with  scars  on  their 
souls  and  misery  in  their  hearts,  incredibly  removed  from 
the  youthful  pair  that  had  wandered  through  the  forests 
of  the  Island.  What  ideals  remained  to  them?  What 
warrant  of  better  things  ? 

He  remembered  then  that  they  were  three,  not  two — 
forming  that  mysterious  group,  a  family.  Hitherto  family 
life  had  meant  more  or  less  the  wearisome  reiterations  of 
the  day  before,  the  monotonous  exchange  in  daily  life  of 
the  non-essential,  a  traffic  in  surface  preferences  or  dis- 
likes. But  in  the  center  of  this  new  family  was  a  child — 
whose  presence  was  the  authority  for  fresh  departures  and 
experiments  in  the  difficult  business  of  living.  The  ideal 
of  this  son  and  of  what  he  might  mean  flashed  across  his 
mind,  but  his  heart  called  only  for  Patricia.  The  child 
was  as  yet  a  mere  expression  of  her  tragedy,  and  the  spirit 
of  fatherhood  was  only  just  waking  in  him.  She  was  first. 
Her  needs  dominated  all  others.  Would  she  reject  him? 
Would  she  send  him  away  to  prove  himself  again?  That 
must  not  be!  He  was  too  weary,  too  downcast.  She 
must  take  him  with  all  his  sins  and  failures,  to  go  on 
with  him  to  some  fresh  hope. 

"  That's  where  he  lives — the  Doctor,"  Si  announced, 
pointing  his  whip  to  a  clearing. 

Taking  his  suitcase  from  the  cart,  Neal  followed  a  foot- 
path towards  the  cabin  indicated.  A  wild-grape  vine  lent 
a  certain  picturesqueness  to  its  low  door.  Beneath  this 
vine  an  old  man  sat  smoking.  Neal  introduced  himself. 
Dr.  Malcolm  took  the  letter  eagerly,  as  if  even  a  formal 
message  from  Divine  gave  him  pleasure.  Neal  waited, 
giving  himself  to  the  friendly  inquiries  of  half  a  dozen 
hounds,  rolling  the  soft  flaps  of  their  ears  between  his 
fingers.  The  physician  read  the  letter  through  twice,  then 
flashed  a  keen  glance  at  his  visitor.  No  further  conjecture 
as  to  the  paternity  of  Nurse  Patricia's  son  was  necessary. 
Here  unmistakably  was  the  father.  The  clearly  defined 
features  were  the  same,  the  deep-set  eyes. 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  391 

"  Come  in,  Mr.  Carmichael,  come  in !  "  the  doctor  invited 
cordially.  "  It's  a  treat  to  see  anybody  that  was  in  civiliza- 
tion two  days  ago.  Clear  out,  you  rascals,"  he  stormed 
amicably  at  the  dogs.  "  Come  in.  Some  Scotch  and  spring 
water?  Here,  take  a  seat.  I'll  have  supper  in  no  time." 

Neal  seated  himself  in  a  corner  of  the  fireplace,  refusing 
the  offer  of  Scotch.  He  wanted  no  blurring  of  his  mind 
when  he  went  to  seek  Patricia.  For  a  similar  reason  he 
declined  to  smoke,  but  opened  his  suitcase  and  presented 
his  guest-offering  to  Dr.  Malcolm,  a  box  of  cigars  of  a 
brand  that  caused  the  old  man's  eyes  to  glitter.  Neal  felt 
shy  as  a  schoolboy.  He  was  glad  that  the  heat  of  the  fire 
accounted  for  the  flush  in  his  face,  when,  after  a  while, 
Dr.  Malcolm  spoke  of  Patricia. 

"  I  hope  you're  not  going  to  take  her  away  from  me, 
Mr.  Carmichael,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  don't  know  what  I'd 
do  without  her." 

A  wave  of  relief  swept  over  Neal,  that  the  bridge  had 
been  crossed  with  so  little  effort. 

"  I  mean  to  take  her  away — or  remain  with  her,"  he 
answered. 

"  I  suppose  I  couldn't  expect  to  keep  her,"  the  doctor 
commented.  What  he  thought  or  what  he  suspected  was 
as  successfully  hidden  behind  his  shrewd  gray  eyes  as  if 
he  had  been  an  attache  of  a  legation.  Perhaps  this  was 
his  court,  this  unseen  assemblage  of  dependents  in  the  sur- 
rounding forest,  whose  secrets  he  guarded  as  jealously  as 
if  the  fate  of  a  state  hung  upon  them.  Neal  thought  of 
the  intense  loneliness  of  his  life,  cut  off  from  his  kind  by 
the  wilderness.  Would  he  die  here  at  last  among  his  moun- 
taineers, and  be  buried  in  some  high  grave  which  no  one 
would  ever  visit?  This  existence  was  as  near  to  the  can- 
celing of  a  personality  through  environment  as  could  be 
imagined.  Yet  how  fiery  real  the  old  man  was  as  he  moved 
about  the  cabin,  preparing  supper,  interspersing  his  con- 
versation with  Neal  with  adjurations  to  the  melancholy 
hounds,  as  near  to  excitement  over  Neal's  visit  as  their  tem- 
perament allowed  them  to  be. 


392  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

At  supper  Neal  found  himself  talking  of  Patricia.  Was 
her  cabin  far  away?  Only  half  a  mile?  He  would  make 
it  while  it  was  still  light. 

"  Straight  up  the  trail — you  can't  miss  it — second  on  the 
right.  Does  she  know  you  are  coming  ?  " 

"  No.    I  didn't  write." 

"  She'll  be  powerful  glad  to  see  you,  I  reckon." 

Unable  to  comment  on  this  conjecture,  Neal  turned  the 
subject.  As  soon  as  he  could,  he  left  the  cabin,  his  host 
accompanying  him  a  little  way,  with  silent,  wistful  cour- 
tesy. Neal  divined  that  the  prospect  of  losing  his  treasure 
of  a  helper  depressed  the  old  doctor.  When  he  went  on 
alone  he  had  the  feeling  of  observant  eyes  upon  him,  and, 
turning,  he  saw  the  physician  still  standing  where  he 
had  left  him,  his  figure  drooping  a  little,  an  attitude 
that  linked  him  oddly  with  the  gloomy  hounds  about  his 
knees. 

Night  would  soon  fall.  A  half-seen  splendor  of  sunset 
flamed  behind  the  forest  trees.  Neal  walked  rapidly  on, 
a  chill  of  expectation  upon  him,  his  heart  beating  with  a 
violence  that  sounded  at  times  a  muffled  drum  in  his  ears. 
He  could  scarcely  believe  that  within  a  few  moments  he 
should  see  her,  speak  to  her. 

How  brave  she  was  to  live  alone  in  this  wilderness !  He 
prayed  that  his  son  might  have  her  virtues,  unalloyed  by 
the  inheritance  of  his  father's  traits. 

Suddenly  an  abrupt  turning  of  the  road  brought  her  cabin 
into  view.  She  was  seated  on  the  great  stone  that  formed 
its  doorstep,  a  child  in  her  lap.  Her  back  was  half  turned 
to  Neal.  The  vision  of  her  with  her  baby  checked  for  a 
moment  his  steps,  while  over  him  swept  such  a  torrent  of 
love  and  longing,  of  pride  and  misery  that  he  felt  for  the 
moment  like  one  drowning.  If  he  should  lose  her  now,  he 
would  taste  the  full  bitterness  of  his  punishment.  But  he 
could  not  lose  her.  She  would  not  turn  from  him  when 
she  knew  how  great  his  need  was  of  her.  Fearing  to  startle 
her  by  appearing  too  suddenly  before  her,  he  called  softly, 
"  Patricia ! "  He  saw  her  turn  a  little,  saw  the  color  leave 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  393 

her  face,  which  had  an  expression  at  once  listening  and 
incredulous.  Then  rising,  she  saw  him. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  quite  motionless,  the  child 
clasped  in  her  arms,  her  eyes  dilated,  yet  with  no  expecta- 
tion in  them,  no  hope.  She  simply  waited,  as  if  some  dark 
image  of  despair  still  enthralled  her  brain,  held  her  from 
the  motions  of  life.  If  he  read  anything  in  her  face  at  all 
it  was  distrust  of  his  coming,  fear  of  him.  That  hurt  him 
most  of  all. 

"  Patricia,  speak  to  me,"  he  said  imploringly.  "  Are  you 
angry  that  I've  come." 

"  Angry  ?  "  she  whispered. 

Then,  as  if  the  words  between  them  released  her  from 
a  spell  as  intolerable  to  herself  as  to  him,  the  color  returned 
to  her  face,  a  shining  light  kindled  in  her  eyes — a  far-off 
reflection  of  the  old  worship,  the  old  wonder.  Her  breath 
came  quickly.  Joy  contended  with  despair  in  her  breast — 
joy  at  beholding  him  again,  at  being  closed  in  with  him 
thus  solemnly  in  this  primitive  wilderness :  despair  lest  this 
meeting  should  prove  to  be  but  the  shadow  of  restoration. 
The  old  love  throbbed  in  her  with  new  significance. 

He  was  close  to  her  now,  could  see  the  beauty  of  the  child 
she  held  so  jealously.  With  a  convulsive  clasp  of  his 
mother's  neck,  the  baby  turned  his  head  away,  burying  his 
face  on  her  shoulder. 

"  He's  shy  with  strangers,"  she  explained. 

Strangers !  The  word  released  the  pent-up  torrent  of 
his  feeling.  With  a  cry  of  longing  he  put  his  arms  about 
mother  and  child  and  gathered  them  hungrily  to  his  heart ; 
and  held  them  as  if  he  feared  even  in  that  supreme  moment 
that  he  would  again  suffer  loss.  A  sob  of  faint  momentary 
protest  came  from  her  lips,  then  she  pressed  closer  to  him 
and  he  felt  her  tears  against  his  cheek. 

"  Patricia !  my  Patricia !  " 

His  need  of  her  was  in  his  utterance  of  her  name.  His 
voice  stirred  her  to  the  depths  of  her  being;  and  vistas 
opened  of  a  fairer  felicity  than  she  had  ever  known — not 
the  impossible  landscapes  of  youthful  fancy,  but  the  hope 


394  BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED 

of  two  who  understood  each  other  at  last  after  a  great  and 
final  forgiveness.  A  new  warmth  filled  her  eyes  as  she 
gazed  at  him.  Her  soul  yearned  to  him. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  leave  you  now,  Patricia  ?  "  he  whis- 
pered as  if  divining  her  thoughts. 

She  shook  her  head.  The  question  was  beyond  her  power 
to  answer.  She  led  him  to  a  seat  beneath  a  forest  tree. 
The  afterglow  lit  up  the  two  faces  and  the  bright  curls  on 
the  bended  baby  head  at  their  knees.  The  child  was  strug- 
gling to  his  feet,  catching  at  his  mother's  skirts.  Neal 
put  out  a  hand  to  support  him,  and  like  an  electric  shock 
some  vital  fire  from  the  soft  flesh  ran  through  his  veins. 
Impulsively  he  leaned  over  and  drew  the  baby  to  his  knee. 
The  child  held  out  frightened  arms  to  his  mother,  but 
Patricia  made  no  offer  to  take  him. 

The  sight  of  Neal  holding  his  son  was  awakening  in  her 
a  passion  unlike  all  the  emotion  of  her  past  life — the  inde- 
scribable force  of  the  everlasting  Trinity.  There  was  in  her 
heart  a  new  love — the  love  for  her  baby  in  company  with 
him  who  had  an  equal  right  to  love  him.  This  right  was 
obliterating  the  past,  obscuring  the  future,  girdling  three 
souls  in  a  communion  from  which  they  could  escape  only 
at  the  peril  of  their  individual  salvation.  She  was  a 
prisoner  to  these  two.  They  were  in  chains  to  her! 
Chains  ? 

The  evening  wind  swept  solemnly  up  from  the  valley 
with  a  whisper  of  freedom,  but  she  turned  from  the  wide 
prospects  of  the  soulless  mountains  to  the  man  and  the  child. 
If  they  were  to  bring  this  child  to  its  maturity,  they  must 
work  together  as  equals  mutually  helping  each  other  in  the 
great  task. 

He  touched  the  soft  hair  as  if  some  alchemy  was  in  its 
gold. 

"  He  is  large  for  his  age,"  she  whispered. 

"  He's  beautiful — wonderful !  Dearest,  I  think  he  looks 
like  you." 

"  Oh,  no !  He  is  exactly  like  you — the  nose,  the  mouth — 
see?" 


BLUE  BLOOD  AND  RED  395 

"  I  want  him  to  look  like  you — I  want  him  to  be  like  you, 
Patricia." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  faint  smile.  "  No — something 
better  than  we  are — always  on  and  on." 

He  reached  across  the  child  and  took  her  hand  in  a 
strong  clasp.  They  said  no  more.  Time  enough,  Neal 
reflected,  on  the  morrow,  to  tell  her  of  his  talks  with  Father 
Carew,  of  the  steps  he  had  taken  to  insure  their  marriage 
in  the  near  future.  It  was  a  foretaste  of  a  purer  joy  than 
they  had  ever  known,  to  sit  thus  silently  together,  while 
above  them  myriads  of  stars  came  into  view,  and  in  his 
arms  their  child  slept.  The  constellations  blazed  above  them 
— the  lamps  of  an  infinite  goal,  towards  which  three,  not 
one,  must  travel  if  the  journey  was  to  be  endured. 


THE   END 


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author's  'Betty-Bide-at-Home"  grown  up  and  become  a 
successful  playwright.  There  is  considerable  humor.  The 
scenes  are  mostly  Boston  and  vicinity  and  New  York. 
Just  published.  ($1.35  net.) 

Boston  Transcript:  "Straightforward  and  swiftly  the  story  moves  from 
its  happy  beginning  to  its  happy  ending  .  .  .  The  heroine,  that  delight- 
ful "Betty-Bide-at-Home"  .  ._  .  that  delicious  femininity  that  makes  her 
so  appealing  ...  a  charming  romance  .  .  .  Through  the  story_  of 
his  redemption  shines  the  glory  of  youth,  its  courage,  its  high  optimism, 
its  unconquerable  faith  in  itself  .  .  .  fine  as  is  the  novel  technically, 
it  is  even  finer  in  its  silent  insistence  upon  an  ideal  of  love  and  of 
marriage." 

THE  FIGHTING  BLADE.     A  Romance 

The  hero,  a  quiet,  boyish  German  soldier  serving  Crom- 
well, loves  a  little  tomboy  Royalist  heiress.  3rd  printing. 
($1.30  net.) 

New  York  ^Tribune:  "Lovers  of  this  kind  of  fiction  will  find  here  all 
they  can  desire,  and  it  is  all  of  excellent  quality." 

New  York  Times:  "The  freshness  of  youth  and  of  life  and  of  the 
joy  of  living." 

Chicago  Inter-Ocean:  "The  best  historical  romance  the  man  who  writes 
these  lines  has  read  in  half  a  dozen  years." 

ALLISON'S  LAD,  and  Other  Martial  Interludes 
Including  "The  Hundredth  Trick,"  "The  Weakest  Link," 
"The  Snare  and  the  Fowler,"  "The  Captain  of  the  Gate," 
"The  Dark  of  the  Dawn."  One-act  war  plays;  all  the 
characters  are  men,  and  amateurs  have  acted  them 
successfully. 

Boston^  Transcript:  "Her  technical  mastery  is  great,  but  her  spiritual 
mastery  is  greater.  For  this  book  lives  in  memory  .  .  .  Noble  passion 
holding  the  balance  between  life  and  death  is  the  motif  sharply  outlined 
and  vigorously  portrayed.  In  each  interlude  the  author  has  seized  upon 
a  vital  situation  and  has  massed  all  her  forces." 

FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 

FRIENDS  IN  THE  END 

A  tale  of  conflict  between  young  folks  one  summer  in 
New  Hampshire.  Illustrated.  ($1.25  net.) 

Living  Age:  "Far  above  the  average  juvenile  ...  A  vivid  narrative, 
interesting  with  the  intensity  of  a  country  land  rights  feud  ...  The 
people  are  clearly  drawn  ...  a  true  atmosphere." 

BETTY-BIDE-AT-HOME 

Betty  gave  up  college  to  help  her  family,  but  learned 
several  things,  including  authorship,  at  home.  3rd  printing. 
($1.25  net.) 

Churchman:  "Among  the  season's  books  for  girls  it  easily  takes  first 
place." 

HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  (ix'13)  NEW  YORK 


BY  CLAYTON  HAMILTON 
STUDIES  IN  STAGECRAFT 

CONTENTS:  The  New  Art  of  Making  Plays,  The  Pictorial 
Stage,  The  Drama  of  Illusion,  The  Modern  Art  of  Stage 
Direction,  A  Plea  for  a  New  Type  of  Play,  The  Undramatic 
Drama,  The  Value  of  Stage  Conventions,  The  Supernatural 
Drama,  The  Irish  National  Theatre,  The  Personality  of  the 
Playwright,  Where  to  Begin  a  Play,  Continuity  of  Structure, 
Rhythm  and  Tempo,  The  Plays  of  Yesteryear,  A  New  De- 
fense of  Melodrama,  The  Art  of  the  Moving-Picture  Play, 
The  One-Act  Play  in  America,  Organizing  an  Audience,  The 
Function  of  Dramatic  Criticism,  etc.,  etc.  $1.50  net 

Nation :  "Information,  alertness,  coolness,  sanity  and  the  command 
of  a  forceful  and  pointed  English.  ...  A  good  book,  in  spite  of 
all  deductions." 

Prof.  Archibald  Henderson,  in  The  Drama:  "Uniformly  excellent  in 
quality.  .  .  .  Continuously  interesting  in  presentation  .  .  . 
uniform  for  high  excellence  and  elevated  standards.  .  .  ." 

Athenaeum  (London) :  "His  discussions,  though  incomplete,  are 
sufficiently  provocative  of  thought  to  be  well  worth  reading." 

THE  THEORY  OF  THE  THEATRE 

THE  THEORY  OF  THE  THEATRE. — What  is  a  Play? — The 
Psychology  of  Theatre  Audiences. — The  Actor  and  the  Dra- 
matist.— Stage  Conventions  in  Modern  Times. — The  Four 
Leading  Types  of  Drama:  Tragedy  and  Melodrama;  Comedy 
and  Farce. — The  Modern  Social  Drama,  etc.,  etc. 

OTHER  PRINCIPLES  OF  DRAMATIC  CRITICISM. — The  Public 
and  the  Dramatist. — Dramatic  Art  and  the  Theatre  Business. 
— Dramatic  Literature  and  Theatric  Journalism. — The  Inten- 
tion of  Performance. — The  Quality  of  New  Endeavor. — 
Pleasant  and  Unpleasant  Plays. — Themes  in  the  Theatre. — 
The  Function  of  Imagination,  etc.,  etc.  4th  printing.  $1.50  net. 

Bookman:  "Presents  coherently  a  more  substantial  body  of  idea  on 
the  subject  than  perhaps  elsewhere  accessible." 

Boston  Transcript:  "At  every  moment  of  his  discussion  he  has  a 
firm  grasp  upon  every  phase  of  the  subject." 


THE  GERMAN  DRAMA  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 

By  GEORG  WITKOWSKI.    Translated  by  PROF.  L.  E.  HORNING. 

Kleist,  Grillparrer,  Hebbel,  Ludwig,  Wildenbruch,  Sudermann,  Haupt- 
mann  and  minor  dramatists  receive  attention.  12mo.  $1.00. 

New  York  Times  Review:  "The  translation  of  this  brief,  clear  and 
logical  account  was  an  extremely  happy  idea.  Nothing  at  the  same  time 
so  comprehensive  and  terse  has  appeared  on  the  subject." 

HENRY      HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


DEC    61988 


A     000  052  026     2 


